The Beginning of Goodbye
by Reminiscent Lullaby
Summary: Time is swiftly running out, and the Agreste household is about to change forever. While Adrien and Nathalie face their demons together, Hawkmoth risks everything for one last shot at triumph. Suddenly, no amount of clarity is enough to answer the questions that arise for Gabriel and Adrien. Only one thing is certain: the fate of this family rests in only one pair of hands.
1. Chapter One

**Well, my dudes, it's me, ya girl. I'm back at it again.**

**I've tried to keep my Gabenath fan fictions pretty stand-alone, even though I imagine them all taking place in the same timeline. This one, however, you should probably read after completing Ten Thousand Pounds of Feathers. There's a pretty significant plot point in this story which is introduced there. It's only seven chapters, it'll go quick.**

**But now that you're ready for this one, hello! Welcome! A few quick notes. Season 3 did not go as I expected it. I started working on this prior to Refleckdoll, and that is the mindset with which I wrote most of it. Expect some twists and turns along the way. This does _not_ abide by canon. And no spoilers for the finale if you haven't watched it.**

**I plan on updating twice a week. I hope you all enjoy! Remember to leave a review before you go ;)**

PART ONE

Chapter One

A butterfly's pale wings took the light like the surface of water, becoming a pair of intertwined golden leaves that fluttered at the edge of Gabriel's vision as he crossed the sanctuary with hands clasped stiffly behind his back. The soft clap of lights coming to life in rhythm with his footsteps fell over ears that had heard them one hundred times over, and he involuntarily let them shine quietly into the back of his head, where every other pattern he had learned too well to trace had gone to endure as little more than a mild din.

As he came to a stop a few meters off the bridge, so too did the lavender kwami floating wordlessly above his left shoulder. His large white eyes had peered at his master now and again while they walked. Now paused in front of the sanctuary's centerpiece, Nooroo couldn't tear his gaze away from the glass tube encasing the body of the woman his master loved.

The butterfly descended gently from above them, the low golden light shimmering in its wings with every delicate flap until it came to rest on the surface of the tube. Gabriel watched it pensively, noted how it placed itself just above Emilie's right eye and opened its wings in his direction, as though its attention was turned towards him. They closed and opened again in a continuous succession, paper thin lungs absorbing faint and shallow breaths in a cadance all too short and all too silent.

She was motionless as always with her hands laid over her abdomen and gaze hidden behind softly shut eyelids. A classic sort of beauty shone through a face that had paled by its distance from life: rounded cheekbones, a distinct chin, and the peach of her lips yielding color. Gabriel knew those eyes were smiling even as they were closed in darkness. He'd gone far too long without seeing them, without watching light reflect off the surface of emeralds, without feeling the fire of love burning low as she gazed at him from across the room or behind his shoulder. He remembered the sparkle when she would wrap her herself around his arm, set her perfect chin on his shoulder and look up from below the curl of her long black eyelashes, lips pursed, cheeks flushed red.

"Emilie," he murmured, and the butterfly lifted from the glass, returning to a tranquil flight, "I apologize. I haven't visited for quite some time."

Gabriel knew she could not hear him, knew she had been hovering merely a centimeter from death for as long as she had been shut in that tube, but it hurt much less to pretend otherwise. Yet, there was a sting every time he spoke to receive not even a twitch in the eyebrow or corner of the mouth. He went on:

"You've been gone now for over two years. Your absence has not ceased to be felt. Everywhere I look, I feel you should be standing there. And you aren't. And I feel that it is my fault. I have failed so many times."

Next to his ear, Nooroo made a noise, too small to respond to. Whether his kwami was relieved at such a fact, or sympathetic, or a mix of both was a mystery to him, but to know did not matter as long as he was bound by his master's commands. Gabriel did wonder in some more neglected area of his mind whether Nooroo was also growing weary as he was, if he was willing to be pushed through eternity if such was possible. Two years already felt that long, and now Gabriel looked in the mirror every morning and wondered if he had aged an entire lifetime.

"Some days, I forget the sound of your voice."

_Like a bell_, he had once told someone, long ago before he knew she was his. _Clear, musical. She speaks, and the world listens_.

The words survived in his head like catchy song he couldn't eject, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember what that sounded like. He tried to imagine her laugh, and he saw how she laughed with her whole body, even for something as small as a piece of hair standing stupidly out of place, but its sound failed him. He watched her on mute. He wanted to reach and pull the laugh out of her mouth, and the memory faded away.

More than her laugh, he loved her whisper; the "Good night" as she ducked out of Adrien's darkened bedroom, the "I love you" as she pressed against him under the covers, the "Let's rule the world" as she finished off the one glass of wine too many. He smiled and took her in his arms and said, "Anything for you." And just like her laugh, he couldn't remember the sound of it, which sent shivers up his spine almost every time.

"Lately, I feel I am more Hawkmoth than I am Gabriel."

There was shame in admitting it, and it came from two different directions. Behind him, the chill of gaping shadows washed up his back, the impression of evil left by the innumerable times he had reveled in the suffering of others, devouring them, spitting them back out in the shape of something awful and useful; before him, the light on Emilie's coffin lost its warmth. To feel shame for the efforts he was making for her was a shame itself. He could feel the glare of eyes that didn't work.

"I want you back. I want you to teach me what it's like to be myself. I don't remember anymore." He shut his eyes. The hum of the lights kept him from floating away into the darkness. "I'm doing the best I can, and I know it's not enough. There's no way to keep Adrien safe when all I do is destroy the world he's trying to live in. You had always left the worrying to me, and it was easier when I didn't have to worry about losing everything. There's only so much I can do."

Nooroo let out a somber hum, and Gabriel glanced at him. The kwami immediately crumbled under the gaze of his master, the apology reading in the fall of his little wings. It suddenly occurred to Gabriel that Nooroo had been privy to all his vigils, and a witness to almost everything he had done and said since this had begun. The only one.

Except for…

"I try to do it alone. Sometimes, I manage to convince myself that I can," he went on. Gabriel had always believed there was dignity in solitude, in silence, in the choice to leave a door closed. Pages yellowed when books were opened, after all, and harsh light wore away at art. And so, it marred him to realize that he hadn't even been alone when he lost her. "You could always see through the lies I told myself. I haven't had you to tell me the truth." She always did so with a smile, bright and devious, a quirk in her eyebrow, and Gabriel knew if he couldn't fool her then he had no reason to believe he could fool himself. "But Nathalie is still here. And if you knew what she was doing to help me get you back, I know you would be so grateful. You had always liked her." His fists balled at his sides as his brain lit up with memories. "I don't know what I would have done had she not been there."

Nooroo drifted from the left shoulder to the right, the movement small enough not to elicit his master's rage, and just noticeable enough to dull the pain as Gabriel felt Emilie's cold hand brush against his cheek, fingertips like shards of ice. Her other hand whitened the skin of his wrist as she squeezed while the whisper he had once loved split between her teeth in a growl of agony, "Promise you'll bring me back."

And he did, because he had too. Because he needed her. Because if this was the price of everything she wanted, he would find a way to cheat. He loved her, and without her, he was nothing but flesh and bone and solid rock in shadow.

But then she was gone and he didn't know what to do. She had said the only way to get her back was by the very power that had taken her in the first place, and for almost an entire summer, two shiny magical brooches collected dust in his vault. A voice in his head would tell him, "This is the only way," as if he didn't know. As if he was looking for another way out. In reality, he was just a coward, and it hurt too much.

And one day, his food had remained untouched for hours. It made him nauseous to even look at, because, _fuck_, what was the point? It was a question he might have gotten away without asking had he actually been alone that day, but Nathalie was impossible to ignore as long as her eyes kept returning to him from across the room. Even before Nooroo had become that permanent, insufferable angel on his shoulder, Gabriel could _feel_ her worry like he could feel the ache in his heart. In the evening, his food having sat cold for most of the day, she left the office and returned with a cup of tea which she placed on his desk just an inch from his hand.

"What is this?" he asked her, dull and lifeless, a voice given to a plank of rotting wood.

"Drink it," she ordered. Her eyes were blue stones glaring hardly from below her heavy-lidded eyes. "Just swallow _something_."

He glanced briefly at the forgotten lunch at the corner of his desk and then back at the tea, still steaming. "Thank you."

Nathalie tensed, sensing dismissal rather than gratitude. "Mr. Agreste, I really believe you should drink it."

"I don't want tea." For good measure, he slid the cup to the edge of his desk, holding her stare as he did. Once again, he said, "_Thank you_," and there was a warning in his voice she typically listened to. Her eyebrows would lift and her jaw would tighten and she would turn around and tend to her work as an assistant was expected to do.

But this time she held her ground. She pushed the cup back towards him and leaned over the desk, an air of boldness coming so suddenly over her that Gabriel reclined into the back of his chair with his tired eyes rounded in alarm. Her voice had lost its emotionless tone completely, flooding with concern and warmth and sadness. "I'm so sorry," she murmured, "I cannot imagine how you must feel right now, sir, but I implore you to drink. Please, Mr. Agreste."

As her words settled into silence, he felt the heat of rage crawl from his stomach up his throat and into his face. It must have been visible because Nathalie started to retreat. Gabriel got up from his chair, and passed around the desk so that nothing stood between them, and he growled, "Nathalie, leave it alone. Leave it alone and don't speak to me about it again."

It was admirable, the way the fear in her eyes was forced to share space with her resolve. "I will not talk about it with you if you ask, but you must take care of yourself. I know it's hard, but you have people who need you. Your son -"

"Quiet!" he snapped.

Nathalie didn't listen. What had come over her? "Please, Mrs. Agreste would want you to care for yourself!"

She had barely finished her sentence when Gabriel reached for the cup on his desk, and with a shout of wrath, hurled it past Nathalie's head and into the opposing wall, where it shattered in a spray of porcelain and tea over the marble tile.

Her hands were clasped over her mouth. She stood frozen, unable to tear her eyes away from him as the anger slowly drained out of his face and the shame set in cold and paralyzing. He became unbearably unaware of Emilie's portrait behind him, of her immortalized leaf-green stare watching as he lost his mind over her while she waited for him to make good on his promise. What was he doing? What was he thinking? How could he be so intent on destroying everything when all she wanted was to be fixed?

Nathalie was holding her breath, and when she couldn't hold it anymore, he could feel the air pass between her fingers as they loosened over her face. _I'm sorry_, he wanted to say. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_, but the words weren't coming and the spade of guilt wrenching through his chest dug deeper. Then her hands fell away from her lips. One of them pressed an index finger lightly under his chin, guiding his face to look at her. The other clasped around his upper arm. Her touch was so delicate that he wondered if he at some point in the middle of all of this, his skin had turned to paper.

When he had been looking at her long enough to see that she didn't yet hate him, Nathalie draped her arms around his neck. She hugged him patiently, selflessly, never expecting him to hug her back or choose to remain in her embrace. Her grip was loose enough for him to free himself with a gentle tug, and all he needed to do was move. But he didn't. He stood there, and he felt the weight of her head on his shoulder. Then his hands linked together around her waist. He breathed. He trembled. And finally he whispered, "I'm sorry, Nathalie."

"I know," she murmured.

"Emilie wants me to bring her back."

"I know."

"I'm terrified."

She released him and gazed back into his face. The empathy in her eyes was almost too painful to look at. "You are not alone," she assured him softly. "I'm here. I'm with you."

Gabriel drew himself out of the memory, his posture tight with the shame that still lingered from that moment now two years behind him. He sighed and looked back at Emilie, surveyed her body as though she could have possibly moved.

"I told her not to do it," he said after a moment, "Use the peacock miraculous, but ever since you fell asleep she's made a habit of not listening to me. Sometimes, it's been for the best - at this point, I've lost enough of my pride to admit that."

The butterfly flew back into view, and Gabriel's eyes drifted downward as it went to land on the tip of his shoe. He could bend over and pluck it by the wings or scoop it up in his hands and feel it dash against his palms. A twinge of guilt wormed through his heart, as surely being in his lair with his malignant power cast out into the city would have been more productive than lamenting to a woman who couldn't hear him speak, but there was something he was too afraid to say. Logically, Gabriel knew that words made troubles no more real, that he would have to face them whether or not they were addressed aloud, but the back of his throat went suddenly dry. His teeth sank into his bottom lip.

"Every day I have released an akuma, I believed it would be the last, and every day I have failed, but I would have fought for years and years, as many as it took until you were mine again." With a small shake of his foot, the butterfly fluttered off, landing again on a blade of grass a couple meters away. "Now, we're running out of time. It can't wait any longer. Nathalie so reminds me of you in the last few weeks before you left. She tries to hide it as best she can, but there's no use." He wrinkled his nose at the thought and swallowed painfully, the sand of his throat provoking a growl of pain. "I won't lose her too. She doesn't deserve to suffer for our mistake, and Adrien...Adrien needs her." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nooroo nod his head gravely. "I hate to say it given the circumstances, but Mayura has been an incredible partner, but that really should not be much of a surprise with how reliable Nathalie has always been. I never would have gotten so close if not for her help. I would have been defeated. But something has changed. Mayura had always been strong, but even she seems unwell, and I fear it is a sign that the end is drawing near." Oh, Lord, why was he saying it out loud?

Perhaps, because this was the only place he could say it. Nathalie wouldn't hear him anymore. She had stopped listening the moment she put the brooch on for the first time, and now she wouldn't answer his questions. The are-you-okay and what-were-you-thinking were met with silence and sometimes a laugh, that sad and eerie laugh that thickens the air and the room and leaves one with no words to speak but, _I wish you would say something_.

He refused to let her out of the lair anymore. The last time he did, she ignored his pleas for her to return. She had been the level head in the beginning, the warm hand on his shoulder, the vote of optimism, but time wore on and she proved to be fallible. It was a difficult pill to swallow, more like a shard of glass really, when he realized his calm and dependable assistant was becoming dreadfully desperate. Her elegance in battle faltered; she fought like an animal, reckless and vicious and so not like herself that Hawkmoth's stomach turned as he watched her.

And fighting like that, she broke down quickly, unable to keep up with her own furor. Soon, Ladybug and Rena Rouge had driven her into a corner. The toss of a loose brick between the two heroes would have bought her time had it not been for Chat Noir, who disrupted her escape with a swing of his baton and used it to pin her to the pavement by the chest.

Everything he relied on Nathalie to be shattered like a tea cup thrown against a wall when she looked up into Chat Noir's face and hissed, "End this!", the porcelain in her throat revealing pain and anger and hopelessness which made her unrecognizable.

That's when Hawkmoth knew something had been damaged beyond repair. Of course, things had been going wrong for months now. Why didn't he see this coming? Why didn't he do something?

If there was any fortune to be had, it had prompted him to follow her soon after she had made it clear she wasn't coming back, and before the shock had been shed from Chat Noir's face, Hawkmoth swooped down like a bird to take Mayura in his arms and run. Just _run_, and if they follow you, _run faster_.

They didn't. He and Mayura made it back alone, and it was as soon as he set her down in a field of glowing butterflies that the spell broke. She profusely apologized. She clutched his arms, her magenta eyes dark with the shadows of fear and shame. Even if he hadn't been gazing at her in earnest, he would have felt the anguish pulsing like electricity through his body. When she had lost the energy for words, he merely took her chin in his hands and growled, "Don't ever leave my side again."

Gabriel took a few steps closer to Emilie, fidgeting with his wedding band. He ground his teeth together as he contemplated what next to say, as if it mattered. He saw his reflection in the glass, the age in his face. How quickly can a mountain erode into dust? "She's...she's getting desperate. And not just desperate, but weak, and scared, and frankly, so am I. The only thing left to do is take a risk, a bigger one than I ever have before, and if I don't succeed then…" He swallowed, squeezing his ring, "Then it really will be the end. I've take drastic measures in the past, but there's really little time left to act. And I can't lose Nathalie like I've lost -"

"Master…" Nooroo soothed, his little voice tolling quietly into his right ear.

A sharp intake of breath dulled the bloom of pain within. He placed his hand on the glass, obscuring his tragic reflection. "I'm getting you back, my love," he promised, "very, very soon."

She was silent. She always was.

Gabriel drew back his hand with a trembling sigh. The sanctuary was humid, but his blood was cold, and a final look upon Emilie's temperate, motionless face sent a shiver through his body. Nooroo followed his master dutifully as he turned his back and passed back over the bridge. Behind them, the garden was swallowed back into darkness, and a butterfly passed over their heads.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

It was one of the few days in the summer that Adrien had a clean schedule, and it was entirely thanks to circumstance. A photographer had a family emergency, and it being last minute, they were unable to acquire a substitute in order for the shoot to begin on time. It had been rescheduled. This pleased Adrien, who, with a sort of shy affectation for optimism came into his father's office and asked tenderly if he could spend the day with his friends instead.

Truly, Gabriel had no reason to refuse him. The day was free after all, and he hadn't yet thought of something else to occupy Adrien in the meantime. It was always his preference that his son be where Gabriel knew he was safe and unlikely to be troubled. As he contemplated how to respond, his storm-colored eyes narrowed, he twirled the pen in his hand.

Adrien didn't find his hesitation reassuring. The reluctant hope on his face began to wilt as slowly and as tragically as a flower drying in the sun. He started making an apology, his hand on the door knob as he prepared to leave the room, and then Gabriel cut him off.

"Be back before dinner, Adrien."

The life returned to his eyes all at once. "Oh, yes! Thank you, Father!" He beamed at the sight of a smirk on Gabriel's face. It was a rare mark of amusement at his son's gratitude, akin to that of being given a puppy. Adrien stuffed his cell phone into his pocket and turned around to run out of the door.

"Wait just a moment," Gabriel said.

"Yes, Father?"

Gabriel slid his glasses further up his nose. "I know your friends can be...overzealous, perhaps, is the word. Really do see it to it that you're back on time. I have something important to discuss with you."

This intrigued him. Adrien nodded his head. "Oh. Yes, of course. I'll be there, Father."

"Good."

He closed the door behind him. Gabriel watched as Adrien and his bodyguard climbed into the car out front. As they departed, Nathalie remarked from across the room:

"I'm glad you let him go."

Gabriel glanced at her with a bit of mock offense in his face that drew a subtle smile across her lips. "Oh, you say that like I had any justification for saying no. I'm not quite heartless."

"Not quite," she agreed. Her eyes were gleaming. Gabriel looked at her a moment longer and realized that not much else about her looked nearly as lively. While usually her posture was tight and perfect, she now leaned over her desk and rested her head up on a propped elbow, knuckles digging shadows into the white-rose color of her face. She looked tired, and it was only midday.

It took him a few seconds to realize she had asked him a question. "I'm sorry," he replied, attempting to hide his sheepishness and doing a poor job at it telling by the way she blinked slowly at him, "Could you repeat that?"

"What do you need to talk about with Adrien tonight?" Her fist uncurled to tuck some hair behind her ear before returning to hold her head up. "If you don't mind me asking, that is."

"No, I'm glad you did. This concerns you as well."

She was surprised. "Me?"

Gabriel walked from the office's upper level to take a seat in one of the chairs in the center of the room. Upon gesturing for Nathalie to do the same, immediately her apprehension registered through his miraculous, but she made no further comment and joined him. As she sank into her chair, she pulled at the sleeves of her turtleneck peeking out from under her blazer. He declared, "I have a plan."

Right away, her nerves dissolved. She pressed her palms together and held her hands up to her lips. "Oh, I see. Very well, go on."

"I anticipate that this will be the last move I ever have to make," he continued gravely, and Nathalie narrowed her eyes, because she's heard him say that before. Many times. "Certainly, it is the biggest risk, one that will end in either success or failure. Permanent failure. That is to say, I guarantee this will all be over soon."

Nathalie sighed deeply around her hands before lowering them into her lap, so slowly as though she was cautious not to alarm a hostile animal with sudden movement. The weight of his vow was not lost on her. "I see," she repeated, her voice low. An eyebrow quirked as she remembered what had led them into the conversation to begin with. "And what does Adrien have to do with this?" she asked.

"He doesn't." Gabriel's eyes drifted to the door, where Adrien had disappeared just a minute ago. "Obviously, he will know nothing of this. But this time, I don't want him nearby. I don't want him to witness it if something goes wrong, if I fail."

"What are you thinking?" Nathalie's question was sharp with trepidation. The playfulness that had adorned her eyes just moments ago could not have been further from what resided in them now. Gabriel's miraculous flushed her unease through his own skin, and all at once, he felt very cold. Before he could answer, she tilted her head forward and whispered, "Sir, you're worrying me."

He must have been failing to conceal his own doubt. Gabriel checked his posture and cleared his throat. "Do you know about my vacation home in Switzerland?"

"I - I do, yes," she stammered, taken aback. "What about it?"

"I'm finally putting it to use. I plan on having Adrien stay there next week."

Nathalie appeared to have been slapped in the face. "You're sending him to _Switzerland_?"

"I must."

"You're _that_ convinced you'll fail, sir?"

"Convinced is inaccurate," he replied defensively. "I'm not convinced. I'm wary."

Her hands were gripping the armrests, and she was half standing up. After a few seconds she relaxed again and lowered herself back into the chair. "Has Adrien even been there before?"

"Once. He was too young to remember it. Emilie and I visited after my father passed and I acquired the property. I didn't really find that I would have much use for it, but Emilie insisted that we hire someone to keep it up." What he didn't mention was that he planned to take her back soon after she had returned to him, as a sort of second honeymoon. "So it's in fine condition to stay in for a while."

Nathalie leaned her head back into her hand.. Blue eyes drifted to the side as though she were commenting to a spectator, "I don't believe this."

"I don't want Adrien to be here if this all ends poorly for me," Gabriel insisted again. "I understand it's rather unexpected -"

"Too put it mildly."

"But he'll be safe there. The property is very private, and it'll be seen to that he doesn't alert anyone about it on social media. Most importantly, it's away from here."

She was shaking her head softly. "You haven't considered this in the past…"

Gabriel shrugged. "I suppose I'm thinking about this differently now. I'm serious, Nathalie, when I say this is the end."

"I've _heard_ that before."

"But I've never believed it," he confessed, drawing a sigh out of her. "I've always hoped. Always. This is the first time I can say with absolute certainty that what I am planning will put an end to this fight."

"That's what is scaring me." In a smaller voice, she asked him, "Are we ready?"

"There's no choice," he responded.

"What do you mean?"

"We don't have that much time left." He said it like it pained him, needles ripping down the sides of his throat. A flash of horror in Nathalie's face made him glance over his shoulder at Emilie's portrait, so he didn't have to look at her when he added, "It's been two years of this. And you…"

"I understand."

"You're not -"

"I get it." Nathalie's voice was icy, and when Gabriel looked back around, he was careful not to peer at her face. "You're right, sir." He heard her sigh deeply. All this time fretting about her condition and it still wasn't very easy to talk about, even as it became visible: a cloak draped around her body that she couldn't shake off the shoulders, sweeping through the air like an aura as she moved. Nathalie's shoe tapped periodically on the marble floor. Finally, she whispered, "You know, I tried it once."

"Tried what?"

"To end things. Once and for all and all those dramatic phrases about resolution." She looked embarrassed to admit it.

Gabriel blinked at her. "You did?" A guilty nod. "When?"

"Remember when I started carrying the peacock miraculous around permanently?"

April. Gabriel leaned back in his chair and recalled the morning she walked in to the mansion bearing the weight of emotions too numerous to separate and name. The peacock miraculous, stolen from the vault four days previous, was tucked in her pocket and he knew that something must have happened. But she had never told him. He never pried. That entire week had tested them immensely, and to that day, Gabriel was hoping to just forget it. He'd expected Nathalie had already, but timid eyes were revealing otherwise. "What did you do?"

She shook her head at herself. "It was a bad night. Some are worse than others. I was losing hope." It wasn't an answer, but instead of insisting, Gabriel accepted her silence. It made him feel less guilty for his own secrets. "My point is, sir, that there's no guarantee that this really will be the end. I thought it was coming months ago." She attempted a smile, but it was lopsided and sad. "So, don't scare me like that, okay?"

He frowned, tapping his fingers on the armrest. She held his stern gaze with a weary one of her own, until the lingering wordlessness exhausted that phantom smile and she was staring at him with the worry she'd asked him to inhibit. Finally, after an excruciatingly long while, he asserted, "Nathalie, I'm really quite serious."

"I was too."

"Nothing short of a miracle would change anything, if miracle is even the right word." He made a fist. "I would hardly refer to the continuation of this endeavor as such. No, the miracle is in the wish. If it isn't made by the time you get back in two weeks, assume that I have been defeated for the last time."

"When I get back?"

"Somebody must keep watch of Adrien. You'll be going too."

Her gaze flickered, head lifting out of her hand. A white face wavered like a flower in the wind. "I'm sorry?"

He stood up and held his hands behind his back as he turned to face the portrait. "You're the only person I trust to keep twenty-four-seven care of him, Nathalie. I don't know what else you expected."

"I expected that you would need Mayura," she replied, dumbfounded. There was the sound of her rising out of her chair, and a few seconds later, her hand was on his shoulder. He kept his head forward. "You don't think you're doing this alone, do you?"

"Why, didn't you all those months ago?"

"I had an advantage."

"And what would that be?"

She hesitated, her touch falling from his shoulder before she placed it back once more, shier, softer. "What is my curse is also my asset."

"When is unstable power ever an asset?"

"When one is desperate." She took a step forward so she was standing right beside him, and he could see the red streak in her hair blazing out of the corner of his eye. "And desperation itself too has its benefits, but they have failed to yield rewards in the past, at least rewards that have proven to be, well…" she chuckled darkly, "rewarding. That is to say, your own desperation will not secure victory. Mind you, I already failed. I was alone. Don't you think, if this is really the end of the line, that you would be more likely to accomplish your goal with an ally? An ally apart from an akuma?"

"Have we not been asking ourselves that same question since you joined me, Nathalie?" he questioned, glancing down at her under his glasses.

She winced and peeled her eyes away from him. "I haven't been doing this for nothing."

"I didn't mean that," he murmured earnestly, and to reassure her, he placed his hand on top of hers. "Listen to me. I know you want to help. That's a given. I know you're worried. But first and foremost, I need you to be there for Adrien. If something happens, if I'm found out. I'd rather him have you than neither of us."

Nathalie's head turned back towards him as she rotated her hand beneath his until their fingers were gingerly linked. With glassy eyes, she whispered, "But then what? What happens when I give out?"

He couldn't find an answer, so he didn't give her one. He stared ahead, looking into Emilie's gleaming face. After several seconds, Nathalie's fingers slipped out from between his, and his hand rested limp against his thigh.

There was something he couldn't bring himself to say. It stirred at the front of his mouth after rising out from somewhere deep inside his head, all of the dark places where the shadows have unraveled to cover more space in the last two years until everything was dim and drumming with disquieting memory. Nathalie was at the center of so much of it, a consistently dutiful yet increasingly disastrous piece of a narrative that would have continued to go in circles until her intervention forced the story to end _somewhere_. And it was going to end _soon_. Part of him was grateful for the countdown; something else was so filled with rage that there wasn't more time, more time to fail and still be okay, still find hope in a tomorrow.

She knew better than he did about this ending; she held the pen. And her hand trembled until it fell out of her grip and hit the floor next to her, because she just couldn't stand it anymore. She couldn't be what she decided she'd be. That monster was devouring her, and while the ending was the same, the ink stained the paper like spilled blood. Gabriel couldn't read it anymore. Mayura had done all she could for him. He was cutting her out before she destroyed Nathalie, and hopefully there would be time left to spare. It would be spent far away from the hell she tried to fix and only helped him dig deeper below the earth.

Persistently, Nathalie reached for him again, not with her hand but with the sound of her voice, cautious and delicate. "What is your plan, sir?"

He pushed her back gently with his reply. "You don't need to know."

"I would like to know. Please."

"You don't need to," he repeated more firmly. "The only thing that matters is that you keep Adrien company." She was already fighting him on his decision to work alone. Knowing the plan would surely incite her to fight harder, and she had a knack for changing his mind when the timing was right.

She lowered her eyes, teeth clenching behind her drooping lips. As she started to turn away from him, he stopped her by brushing his fingers against her wrist.

"Nathalie," he called faintly, as though he was trying to draw her out of hiding, "I need to know that you trust me."

Her gaze swept back over his face, catching his eyes and seeing something she didn't seem to expect. Something cracked. "Gabriel -" his _name_, "- you're frightening me."

"What is there to fear?" he asked her. "This will all be over soon."

"At least I was sensible enough not to tell you when I thought it was," she soberly remarked. "Promise me you won't do anything foolish."

He shook his head. "I think I have exhausted all the promises I can make in a lifetime."

"I don't know whether to be relieved or disheartened."

"Whichever feels better."

"At the expense of sense or peace, I will have to leave that to chance."

"Do what you must." She started back once again, then he remembered. "Wait. I have one more thing to ask you."

Nathalie pressed her hands into her ears. "Oh, when will it end?" she cried, with misery that was only somewhat inflated.

"At the risk of revealing too much," he began, gesturing once again for them to sit, but Nathalie remained guarded and on her feet, "your miraculous is damaged, yes? Which gives it some unique abilities."

"That's an awfully optimistic way of putting it," she replied, eyes narrowed.

"You've described it once. It's like a broken dam." He recalled an event where Hawkmoth and Mayura had just lost, and in Mayura's ever-growing desperation, a glitch of her miraculous timed to the expression of her outrage sent bursts of useless magic flaring from the brooch. The lair lit up like night under furious lightning. He'd rushed towards her to catch her as she collapsed, shouting, "_What the hell was that_?" as her transformation fell away.

Well, it had been Duusu, or rather Duusu's energy that failed to be contained by the broken miraculous. Nathalie had encountered it before. Gabriel had never seen anything like it.

He crossed his arms, mirroring her defensive stance. "What that shows," he went on, "Is that the kwamis contain way more power than is refined through our miraculous."

Nathalie nodded. "Didn't you already assume that?"

"I assumed they needed us to be useful."

"They're much more powerful than you think." Her eyes flicked back and forth from his face to his shoulder, as if she was expecting Nooroo to emerge at any moment. The butterfly kwami remained hidden. "They really are just these pure forces of whatever it is they represent."

Gabriel's hand rested over his necktie as he absorbed what Nathalie was telling him. Then he asked, "So the kwamis could use their powers of their own volition?"

"I suppose they could, though I don't believe we've ever witnessed it." She paused, and in the bright lights of the office, her pale skin glowed like the moon with its face half-turned away. The piece of raven-colored hair hanging loose had fallen over her eye. She tried her luck again. "What are you thinking?"

"Perhaps, you'll find out soon," he told her.

"I should just trust you, then?"

"That would make things a lot easier." Suddenly, he stepped closer, leaning into her as though there was someone around who might hear their exchange. "Give me your miraculous," he whispered.

In horror, Nathalie backed away from him. "Well, what do you need it for?"

"I don't."

"I sincerely hope you don't plan on using it!" she exclaimed. Her eyes were really rather large. It was hard to tell sometimes under their heavy lids, but now she looked at him in such surprise that he couldn't help but notice.

"Of course not. I'm not a fool," he scoffed.

Something like bitterness came over her as he spoke, and he realized how his words must have sounded. "Careful. Foolishness spreads," she warned. "Like a plague."

Shocked at himself, he said, "I'm sorry."

"I know."

He took a chance, held open his palm, and after several seconds of tense contemplation, Nathalie reached slowly into her pocket and dropped the peacock brooch into his hand. He closed his fist and held it behind his back as if he feared she would change her mind. To reassure her, he said, "You won't need it ever again after next week."

Nathalie went to return to her desk. She replied under her breath, just loud enough for him to hear. "If I last that long without it."

Adrien returned that evening at six, and by the sweat that dampened his hairline and the flush of color in his cheeks, Gabriel could tell he had spent the day with his friends outside. He'd barely made it through the front door before he was recounting the details of his fun. Gabriel managed to listen to none of it beyond recognizing several of the names.

"Thank you, Father. I never have this much free time. I really appreciate you letting me go," Adrien said once he had finished. He looked to the side, right hand bashfully rubbing his left upper arm. "I just feel left out sometimes, you know? I hope...I hope you'll let me do that again."

Gabriel dipped his head. "Perhaps when time allows it, we'll see, Adrien."

It was the most promising answer he had ever received, so he took it with a broad smile. "So, what was it that you wanted to discuss with me?"

Adrien's reaction was not what he had anticipated. The initial excitement that blazed in his eyes went quickly dim as a jolt of realization struck through him. His face started to gaze through Gabriel, his eye brows twitched, and then returned to their neutral position as though he was trying to force indifference. Adrien had never been on a proper vacation before, at least not one that he was old enough to remember. Gabriel was so sure that his son would be incapable of containing his enthusiasm; he seemed rather competent.

"Is there something the matter?" asked Gabriel.

"No, I just…" He was thinking, fidgeting with that curious ring on his hand while he did. "How long did you say we'd be gone?"

"A week."

"Oh."

"Did you have other plans?" growled Gabriel.

Adrien shook his head wildly. "I'm so sorry, Father, I don't want to seem ungrateful. I've just never been away from home for so long, that's all." His eyes briefly went to Nathalie, who was leaning against the banister behind Gabriel's shoulder. "What about that photoshoot? Didn't we reschedule it for next week?"

"No. Two and a half weeks from now."

"What about piano practice, then? Chinese?"

"I see no reason you can't practice those things while you're there. My father had a piano at the house." Gabriel scrutinized his son, surprised at his doubt. "Is that all that troubles you?"

Adrien opened his mouth, but for several moments it hung with nothing but a high-pitched breath escaping. Figuring there was little use in arguing, he stopped playing with his ring and set his hands at rest at his sides. "Yes. That's all. Really, Father, this is very exciting. I guess...I just don't even know how to react, that's all. Is it wrong of me to suspect that there's some sort of catch?"

"Unless you consider spending your vacation alone with me a catch," Nathalie replied. They met eyes and Adrien's tension eased up ever so slightly.

"No, of course not. Thank you." He nodded at Gabriel. "Thank you, Father."

He drifted up the stairs to his bedroom, like the excitement of the day had been given the chance to catch up with him as they were speaking. As soon as his door had closed, Gabriel turned to Nathalie.

"I found that odd."

"I won't pretend either of us have a particularly nuanced understanding of that boy," she murmured, one corner of her lips rising just higher than the other. She tilted her head at him. "I don't know if you believe in omens, but if you ask me, your son's reaction doesn't bode well for your plan."

"Nothing can change my mind."

"You've said much the same only to be proven wrong."

"I _really_ don't have a choice," he barked sternly, making her look away. At first her eyes went up to Adrien's bedroom door, and then to her feet. Nathalie's facade was that of of a brick wall, rough and sturdy, and most anyone that saw her would not know how to begin breaking it down. But Gabriel felt a stirring in his chest, a periodic twitch of his miraculous. In the hours since they'd spoken she had not become any less unsettled. Astonishing her, he walked over and grabbed her hands to feel them shake in his grip. "You're trembling," he rumbled, a voice of thunder drumming from so far away it seemed to come through the earth. "It'll be okay."

She sighed, her breath rattling, and closed her eyes as if she would go blind if she didn't. "What if it won't?"

"Then at least it will be over."

He stood there until she stopped shaking, then walked back into his office to stand before Emilie's portrait, looking for new answers in the same old ancient ritual.


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

"What do you think, Plagg? Is it convincing enough?"

The kwami, who hovered in the middle of the bathroom clutching a wedge of cheese perused Adrien's face lazily. After spending far too many seconds in contemplative silence, he replied bluntly, "Nah."

Adrien turned back to the mirror and pinched some of his hair with damp fingers. "Really? Are you sure?"

"It's just some water on your forehead, kid. I don't know what you think that's gonna do."

"I'm trying to look like a have a fever. Here." Adrien reached into his cabinet. "Maybe some makeup to make me look flushed."

Plagg yawned, turning over to look at Adrien upside down. "Did we have to wake up so early for this? You could have pretended you were dead and stayed in bed all day."

"Plagg!"

"What? It's a more interesting idea than what you're doing now."

"More interesting doesn't make it better." Adrien dabbed the blush on his cheeks and grimaced. It was just a little too purple for what he was trying to accomplish. As he scrubbed it off his face with a washcloth, he tossed a glance at Plagg. "I think the fake sweat should be good enough, don't you think?"

His kwami was bored. "Did you use warm water?"

"No, but I have a flashlight that I'm gonna shine on my head until she comes in." Adrien dried his hands on his pajama pants.

"The lengths you go to for a lie," Plagg mumbled, shaking his head.

"It's a fine skill to hone, given the circumstances." Adrien asked, leaving the bathroom. "Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink."

Plagg gave a tired sigh and dropped the wedge of Camenbert into his mouth, hardly chewing it. He zipped out of the bathroom to find Adrien burying himself under his covers. "What kind of teenage boy doesn't want to go on a vacation? First school, and now this? I'm beginning to think you enjoy being as bored as possible!"

"Yeah, I know it doesn't make sense, but you know my reasoning. Don't you agree?"

"Well," huffed Plagg, dangling his arms, "I guess. But I have a reason of my own, and it's that I think you deserve a vacation." He lurched forward to hover an inch from Adrien's moist forehead. "We _both_ do. Even superheroes and immortal embodiments of abstract concepts deserve to have a little fun, in addition to other luxuries such as not waking up at six o'clock in the morning."

Adrien checked the time on his phone. "Not quite six yet."

"More importantly," continued Plagg, "You really ought to hold on to this opportunity. Genuinely, I'm shocked your father managed to last seven days without changing his mind about sending you away."

"That's a good sign, though, right?" asked Adrien hopefully.

"It could be. I'm suspicious, personally."

"Suspicious of what? That this is a prank?"

"Nah, you know that's completely inconceivable." Plagg came to rest on Adrien's pillow as the boy reached over to his bedside table to grab the flashlight he'd set there the night before. He flicked it on and shone the pale yellow light on his forehead. "What I'm saying is, if you want to skip out on this, you can probably kiss any future vacation goodbye."

"I have a duty, Plagg."

"Is that what you're really worried about?"

Adrien looked to the side, a frown tugging at his mouth. "You say that like I don't take this Chat Noir thing seriously. Come on, Plagg, I know you get me. You just can't resist the temptation that is doing absolutely nothing."

"Oh, don't pride yourself on having me figured out," Plagg retorted. "I know you're not being one hundred percent transparent with me, Adrien Agreste. You better watch what you say, 'cause I'll be pestering you until you decide to be honest."

"You're one to talk about honesty, Plagg."

"Well, I'm not the superhero, am I? You're the only person I'm obligated to interact with."

"Like that matters. You can lie to yourself too, you know."

A gentle knock at his bedroom door made Adrien jump. He fumbled with the flashlight until managing to shove it under his pillow just as the door opened and Nathalie walked in, calling his name. "I told you to be up by now," she said, irritated that Adrien appeared to still be asleep.

He stayed that way until she turned on his bedside lamp, to which he let out a groan and pulled the covers over his head. He caught sight of Plagg beneath them, whose narrow green eyes glared with disappointment and exasperation.

Nathalie's voice spoke sternly from above him. "Adrien, get up. We have to get to the airport. Your bodyguard will be here in a half hour to pick us up."

When he didn't budge, she prodded him in the back. "Nathalie," he moaned, voice muffled by the sheets, "No, please."

"What's the matter?" she asked, hardly seeming concerned. He needed to sell it harder.

Adrien emerged from beneath his covers and drew a hand over his forehead. Unfortunately, his skin had dried much faster than expected under the heat of the flashlight, but his hair was still rather wet. "I feel warm. I think I have a fever."

He was surprised to see Nathalie in a sweatshirt. They would be spending some of the morning on a plane, so it was a practical choice, but he was surprised to see her look so casual. Her hair was still tied in a bun, but it was much messier than usual, and some of her red hair dangled in front of her face. She didn't even quite look like herself at all - then she quirked an eyebrow, and the resemblance quickly returned. "Do you?" she asked, not even pretending to believe him.

"I'm serious, Nathalie. I feel really sick." He tried to speak as though congested, gathering the covers and pulling them tighter around his shoulders. "I really don't feel well enough to fly." He coughed, and let his head fall back against his pillow. "Ugh, could the timing be any worse?"

"Really a travesty," she mumbled.

"And I've never been on a vacation before." He gave her the most pleading look he could manage. "Do you think Father would let us go another time?"

"Is that what you're counting on?"

He coughed again, louder, and she flinched, a look of pain flashing briefly across her face. Maybe he was slowly convincing her. Adrien let his arm fall over his eyes. "Nathalie, please. I really don't feel well. Do you think you could get me some medicine?"

He heard her sigh, and then the bed shifted as she took a seat beside him. When he peeked out from under his arm, she was gazing at him with what looked like pity. Had he done it? Had he convinced her?

Then she laughed. Actually laughed at him. "I know you can act, Adrien," she said. "It runs in your blood, but this isn't your best performance."

"Not true!" he exclaimed, then stiffened. "Here, uh, feel my forehead! It's warm!"

She did so, and then laughed again. "Nice one, how'd you accomplish that?"

Adrien initiated a staring contest. It seemed a better course of action than to admit just how pathetic his lie was. He also stopped breathing, but hadn't realized it until Plagg nipped at his finger under the cover and Adrien gasped in surprise. "Okay, fine," he mumbled, and reached under his pillow to pull out the flashlight. As he held it out, he refused to look at Nathalie's face.

She took it from him. "You thought this through well enough, I'll give you that one. Unfortunately, you haven't exactly been acting as excited as one might expect for a kid who's never properly been on vacation. I figured you would try somehow to get out of it." She set the flashlight face down on his bedside table and got to her feet. Stuffing her hands in the pockets of her sweatshirt, she asked, "Now, would you like to tell me why you so vehemently don't want to go?"

Adrien sat up against his headboard, releasing a long, embarrassed sigh. "I'm sorry for lying, I just really don't think it's a good idea."

Her eyes flicked to the door as though she was trying to see something beyond it. "This is what your father wants."

"He never told me why."

"Hm?"

"He never told me why he's sending me away." Adrien drew his knees up to his chest. "Nathalie, should I be worried?"

She was silent for just a heart beat too long before she replied, "No." When she heard Adrien wince, she went on, "He's felt a little overwhelmed lately. He figured sending you away would both give you an opportunity you've never had before, as well as give him something less to worry about. Of course, I expect he'll be checking in with me at least once daily, but this will be good for both of you. As for him, he'll learn that he can have his distance without everything going awry in the meantime." Something adjacent to affection dawned on her countenance. "I hope you'll forgive me for saying this, but you're more similar to him than you think. Both of you worry like the world will collapse in on itself if you stop paying attention."

"Well, when you're a superhero, it just might."

Her face darkened.

"Nathalie, do you really think I should leave for an entire week?"

She took a deep breath, removing her hands from her pockets and repeatedly drawing back the loose hair in front of her face. At this point she had known Adrien was Chat Noir for months, but the subject always sent something amiss within her. Most of the time, she pretended to not know, even when they were alone, but when Adrien brought it up himself, it always felt like he was unearthing some hidden anguish she'd managed to conceal for all the years prior she had known him. He wondered if she was just scared for him, or if she was burdened by the responsibility of keeping the secret from his father, who undoubtedly would go mad over such a revelation. Either way, the topic was sensitive, and he felt guilty for playing the card.

"I - I don't know," she finally answered, deciding that her hair was unacceptable. She stood before the nearest mirror and re-styled it into a much neater bun. "I don't know, Adrien, but we can't use that as an excuse, unfortunately."

"Then just play along with the whole fever thing, it'll work! Do you really think Father would let me go to Switzerland if he knew I was sick?" he asked.

She shook her head, not at his question, but at her own reflection. The short piece of hair that always laid on her forehead seemed to bother her immensely. "We have to go. It's not an option."

It was a strange response. "You've changed his mind before," he insisted.

When her hair failed to obey her, she abruptly turned from the mirror and stared back at Adrien on his bed. "Please, Adrien, enough arguing. I just came in here to make sure you were awake. Now that I see that you are, I'll leave you to get ready. Be downstairs at six thirty. Understand?"

"Nathalie, I don't know what to do," he said. He played with his ring where she could see it, observed it shining in the pale lamplight. "What happens when Hawkmoth akumatizes someone? Ladybug is going to expect me to be there and I won't be. For a whole week. This is a real problem."

"I suppose you didn't warn her that you wouldn't be around," Nathalie said, now playing with the drawstrings of her sweatshirt. Why did she look so anxious? "Well, it is what it is. She has other allies, doesn't she? If something happens, there will be some other hero there to help her out."

Adrien felt the air had been knocked clean out of his lungs. His right hand dropped onto the covers beside him. _She has other allies_. Well, yes, of course she did. She had Rena Rouge, Carapace, Viperion, Pegasus, King Monkey, and if none of their powers were enough, there were still plenty other miraculous left over to give to a worthy citizen. Chat Noir was her permanent partner, but he definitely wasn't her only one. He definitely wasn't crucial. Not with all those other options.

His eyes lowered, catching Plagg peering at him with the bed sheet folded tightly around his ears. It occurred to him that Nathalie still had yet to meet Plagg. That was probably for the best, given her discomfort. He waited for the breath to return steadily to his lungs, so he could look back up and say, "I guess you're right."

Nathalie's hands came back to rest in her pockets. She nodded at Adrien wordlessly.

"But that's not all," he went on, crawling out of his sheets. "My friends all know that I'm going to be out of the country. So, Hawkmoth akumatizes someone, and Ladybug shows up. Then there's no Chat Noir. People get suspicious. 'That's odd,'" Adrien said in a nasally voice, planting his hand demonstrably on his chin as though deep in thought, "'Adrien Agreste and Chat Noir, two high profile Parisians gone at the exact same time? Oh wait -'" he shifted his hands to his hips "'- now Adrien is back, and would you look at that, Chat Noir is back too. Could it be? Are they the same?' Do you see the issue, Nathalie?"

She looked absurdly tired, and Adrien almost asked if she was okay. Her index fingers slipped under her glasses and pressed her eyelids, which he realized were wearing none of her usual eyeshadow. After heaving a deep sigh, she glared at him. "Fine, you're right."

"Really?" he asked. He turned back to his bed to exchange a glance with Plagg. "So does this mean -"

"If you're worried about Chat Noir not being around," Nathalie continued, and he saw when he looked back to her that an idea had flashed in her eyes, "Then before we go, you can return the ring to - whoever you got it from so Ladybug can hand it out to - whoever she feels like as a way to deter suspicion. Sound good?"

Adrien hesitated, fearful of setting her off again, but that honestly sounded like the worst idea she could have given. Nathalie seemed to read his dissatisfaction anyway, and as her shoulders went rigid and the exhaustion flowed down her frame like she was a fountain of it, Adrien felt a pang of regret in his chest for giving her such a hard time. For someone about to go on vacation - and seriously, when had she last had one? - she looked as far from peaceful as a person could get. Nathalie removed her glasses and scraped her hand down the length of her face. "Please, Adrien, please don't make this hard for me." Her voice was small and breathy like she was struggling to force it out.

"I'm sorry," he told her. He stared at his miraculous, twisting it back and forth. There was no way he would be letting anybody else have it. _He_ was Chat Noir. _He_ was Ladybug's partner. "It's just Hawkmoth. He's been getting so desperate lately. Mayura too. Is there really nothing else we could do?"

Nathalie was helplessly silent. To him, she looked like any more fighting would break her in half. He wasn't used to seeing her this way. Finally, she walked to the door grasped the handle. "Get dressed, brush your teeth, eat something quickly. I'll see you soon."

She left and closed the door gently behind her.

Plagg rose out of Adrien's bed, another yawn seizing him. "There's no vacation from the drama, is there?"

"I thought she would understand," Adrien sighed, pulling some clothes out of his dresser. "Maybe if I'd brought it up to her sooner…"

"You know, she probably needs this break a lot more than you do," remarked Plagg.

"Yeah, for sure, though it doesn't really seem like she even sees it as one. Is it just me, or did it kinda feel like she doesn't really want to go?" Adrien asked. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and looked at Plagg. "I think she's just doing this because Father said so."

"Isn't that why she does anything?"

"Not true, Plagg. She's a person, not a robot."

"I don't trust robots," the kwami growled, and Adrien snorted. "They're always thinking. You can't trust something that's always thinking. Because if it's always thinking, then it's not talking, and if it's not talking, then what they're doing is thinking about all this stuff that they won't ever talk about, and then there's all this brain matter that they keep hidden from everyone else."

"Robots don't have brains," Adrien replied, slipping on some socks. He ran his hands through his hair in front of the mirror, and caught Plagg glaring at the door where Nathalie had disappeared moments ago.

"That one does," he quipped.

"Are you saying you don't trust Nathalie?" inquired Adrien. He had brushed his teeth before enacting his failed fever plan, so he just double checked to see if he'd packed his toothbrush. Plagg wasn't answering, so he said, "I know you feel weird about her knowing I'm Chat Noir, but you don't have anything to worry about."

"Whatever. Like I said, she just thinks too much. I believe the world would be a better place if everybody just stopped thinking. Just for a day. Or for a week." More quietly and very suddenly, he added, "Also, I just feel like she knows about me."

Adrien zipped up his bag and raised his eyebrows at his kwami. "Knows about you? What do you mean?"

"She's not supposed to. We've never met. As far as she's concerned, you just have a magic ring that can spontaneously turn you into Chat Noir. She doesn't know how. And yet," Plagg came close, and Adrien instinctively held his breath to avoid smelling the Camenbert on his voice, "I just feel like she knows about me."

"Well," Adrien said, gently pushing Plagg away with the press of two fingers, "Can you recall ever meeting her?"

"No."

"Then you're crazy."

Plagg scoffed. Adrien started to quickly straighten out his bedsheets. "Okay, it's like that feeling when you see someone, and you feel like you definitely know them, but you just can't remember where you saw them last," Plagg tried to explain. "Now I can identity any type of cheese from twenty meters away by smell alone; human faces, not my strong suit. But I feel that way with Nathalie. Obviously, I see her all the time, but I feel like I've _seen_ her. Like not in the way I usually see her. Like she reminds me of someone else."

"Who would that be?"

"I don't know! That's the point. And it's not a face. It's a _vibe_."

"You really are crazy," Adrien said, laughing lightly. "Crazy and paranoid."

"You're one to talk, kid. Now I know what you're really worried about. You're scared Ladybug is going to replace you or something like that."

Adrien checked the time on his phone. "Replace me? That's ridiculous. I'll only be gone a week. Anyway, we should probably head downstairs now, right?" Without waiting for an answer, Adrien swept his eyes quickly over his bedroom as he rolled his suitcase to the door Sighing, Plagg turned off the bedside lamp, and with a pointed glare right into Adrien's soul, he dove to hide in his shirt as they left the room behind in the dark of the early morning.

His father was awake to see them off. As Adrien's bodyguard brought his and Nathalie's bags to the car, Gabriel placed his hand on his son's shoulder and murmured something along the lines of, "Be safe and do as Nathalie tells you," but Adrien hadn't quite registered it, because the very next second, he was being pulled into his father's embrace. Adrien was initially shocked, then remembered all at once that he was going to be gone for a week and that he had never been away from his father for so long. It made him ask, the question tasting sharp and foreign though it never left his mouth, why this was even happening? Why Gabriel seemed so uncertain, yet at no point in the last week had seemed to question his choice at all?

Gabriel held him until the bodyguard returned and gestured for the door. Upon releasing Adrien, his eyes, looking gray as stone, saw him off with a shine of sad wonder, like he was just realizing how much his son had grown, and how much of it he must have missed. Adrien felt a twist of his heart. He really didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave his father looking so pained and regretful, and not know why. But his feet carried him to the front door, and he could do nothing else but stare over his shoulder. He watched Nathalie place a hand on Gabriel's chest, and then her arms around his neck, and then his father's hands clasping themselves behind her back. She pulled away after a couple seconds, said goodbye in a tone Adrien couldn't decipher, and followed him out the door. It closed behind them, and Adrien felt his throat close up.

Why, why did this feel like goodbye?

On the short plane ride, Adrien couldn't sleep as Nathalie suggested. He stared out at the clouds looking like plumes of snow caught frozen in time, blazing heavenly white in the morning sun. He squinted at the brightness, getting lost now and then in the pale cyan emptiness of sky. Plagg got bored about twenty minutes in and took to giving him a heart attack by phasing through the window and back in again, laughing at the horror in Adrien's face. Elsewhere in the jet's cabin, Nathalie was reclined in a seat with her face resting on her hand as she slept, still as a board. Adrien shushed Plagg and closed his own eyes, not to doze, as he knew it would be impossible, but just to forget where he was, forget he was flying miles away from home, and that for some indefinable reason, it felt wrong.

Everything was going to be fine, he told himself as they landed in Geneva, and he repeated it to himself over and over while they rode from the airport around the lake and down the private drive. He was so focused on calming himself that when the house finally came into view, Adrien realized that he hadn't even wondered what the place looked like, but of course, it was big and beautiful, modeling the architecture of many of the buildings surrounding the lake nearby and by the look of it, it had been very well taken care of. Bright flowers adorned the walkway and spilled out of the window boxes, fiery pinks, yellows, reds, and purples singing at them, looking like confetti expertly strewn across the lawn. The grass was cut and the shrubs, trimmed. A large tree with great billowing branches leaned over the yard, and as the breeze blew through its leaves, the shadows swayed elegantly among them as they made their way to the door. The caretaker was awaiting them, an older woman called Dianne who lived with her adult children several houses away, who, if Adrien wasn't mistaken was wearing some of his father's most recent jewelry line. She was warm and excited to meet them, and as soon as Adrien introduced himself she put her hands to her mouth and exclaimed, "Oh Adrien! The last time I saw you, you were this high." She gestured to her knee. Suddenly, he felt very guilty for having never heard of her before. Judging by her lively disposition, Adrien could only guess it had been his mother's choice to hire her all those years ago.

She showed them around the place, and while everything was clean and well-organized, Adrien couldn't help but feel that while the outside was lovely, the inside was a very close reflection of the mansion in Paris. There was a lot of wide open space, harsh lighting, sophisticated and simple furniture that sucked the life out of each of the rooms. The walls, however, were even barer, displaying no photographs at all, only a few sparse pieces of abstract art, the kinds people go around art museums scoffing at, saying, "I could have painted that."

Dianne didn't overstay her welcome. She left them with her cell number and the number of her oldest son and told them to make themselves at home before bowing out. Then it was only Adrien and Nathalie in the house. He kept thinking that somewhere, behind one of the closed doors, he would find his father hard at work, as if they had never left Paris. But his father wasn't there. It was just them, in a space that was strangely familiar yet remarkably eerie at the same time.

Adrien's bedroom here was far smaller than the one he had back home. It was a single level, with little more than a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a couple of bedside tables and lamps, and a pair of armchairs in the corner, flanking a tall but empty bookshelf. He had his own bathroom, which was connected by a door on the other side leading to a smaller, empty bedroom. Plagg plunged onto the neatly-made bed and claimed the room for himself.

"Lighten up, kiddo," he said when Adrien failed to show any amusement. "You're in a completely new place, with nothing to worry about, free from the walls that usually keep you so confined! Where's that signature Agreste smile?"

"I think I left it back home," Adrien replied, beginning to unload the contents of his suitcase into the dresser back in his own room.

Plagg called, "Well, there's nothing we can do about it now, huh? Except enjoy ourselves!"

"Did you think it was weird how Father was acting?" Adrien asked, but he couldn't bring himself to raise his voice loud enough for Plagg to hear it. He clutched a shirt in his hands, staring out the window where the great blue lake glittered at him through the trees. What was Father doing now?

He shook his head and laid the shirt neatly in the drawer. He was being ridiculous. Father was fine. Everything was fine. Everything was…

"I'll race you to the lake," Plagg challenged, popping back into his bedroom. "Whoever wins gets a tasty wedge of Camenbert."

Adrien smiled. He stood up and closed the drawers, kicking the suitcase aside. Whatever was going on, he could always count on Plagg to try to make him feel better. "Hey, just to remind you, I could only pack so much of that stuff. You better savor it."

"As if we can't get some fine cheese here!" Plagg licked his mouth at the thought. "Okay, ready, set -"

"You know I can't possibly beat you, right?"

"Go!"

Plagg phased through the door, moving like a shadow one stops to ask whether it is real. Adrien, laughing, flung it open and raced into the hall, down the stairs, and out the back porch. The wind was cool on his skin, the sky like crystal, and as Adrien reached the pier, he stopped to catch his breath as Plagg impatiently demanded his reward.

_Please, let everything be fine_.


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Gabriel couldn't stand still. His footsteps on marble sent gentle claps of sound through an otherwise empty house, beating through his head like the unbroken ticks of an analogue clock, so incessant and familiar that the brain ceases to hear them only until they stop. He watched the movement of the light; outside, the sun drifted higher. Shadows shortening around his feet would soon grow cowardly, pressed tightly against the furniture trying to cast them unto the black and white floor. The office was bright. He squinted behind his glasses out the window, trying to look past the midmorning glow at something too far away to see.

"Would you have Adrien practice his piano today?" he asked, gruff voice sawing through the pristine quiet like a dull knife.

Nathalie answered from five hundred kilometers away, her words sharpened by the phone they passed through, sitting on a low table in the middle of the room. "Of course, sir." There was a pause and she cleared her throat roughly. "I have him scheduled to do so this afternoon, Wednesday, and Friday from five to five-forty PM."

"And what of Chinese?"

"Right. He asked me if I would be able to let him off the hook with that one for the week," she responded. "Would that be acceptable, sir?"

Gabriel pursed his lips, pausing now before Emilie's portrait before continuing his circle around the office. Apparently, he was taking too long to answer, because Nathalie murmured, "Never mind. I'll have him practice on Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday from-"

"No, that's fine. Leave it be."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Give him a break."

"I really can keep us on a tight schedule if you'd like, sir," she offered, and he could hear in her voice that her brows hung heavy over her eyes as she gazed sternly into her screen. He imagined the light of it reflecting off her glasses. He might pause again, turn around, and see her there...

He kept his restless pace. "So you made one?"

She might have been briskly nodding. "Of course I did."

"You didn't have to."

"I figured you would feel calmer by it."

He was by the window now, looking at his faint reflection as he passed close to the glass. The iron gate beyond it had not opened or closed since the previous morning, when the bodyguard drove through it with Adrien and Nathalie seated in the back. Adrien had waved solemnly. Gabriel could not understand why the boy seemed so troubled to leave. He couldn't possibly know why Gabriel had sent them off, nor could he know who his father was really worried for.

"That was kind of you," he finally replied, though he'd said it quietly, and Nathalie asked him to repeat himself. Instead of doing that, he turned away from the window and lied, "I am already rather calm, Nathalie."

"Oh?" she went. "That's quite the relief. I would have otherwise feared for you all day."

"The reason you aren't here is because I don't want you to fear for me," he told her soberly.

The quiet that subsequently lingered pulled obscurely at him like the hands of ghosts. Normally, Gabriel would be able to sense her emotions, so he knew how to feel. His miraculous was still and mute. He felt himself dangling in empty space. Everything felt so far away. Gabriel grappled for his miraculous just to make sure it was still there, that it hadn't fallen off. It felt like plastic under his fingertips.

"I'm not quite sure what you expected," Nathalie at last replied. He imagined the tenseness of her face, her left hand gripping the phone, the right cupping her elbow.

Gabriel leaned against the window. "Me either," he muttered.

"Have you done anything foolish yet?" she asked.

At this he chuckled, smiling towards the sound of her voice as though she could see him. "No, not yet. Though foolishness, I think, is really quite subjective."

"Oh, I would agree. Does a fool know he is being laughed at?"

"Not before it's too late. Not before everyone has made up their mind," he replied.

"Well, I am your audience," declared Nathalie, "And I laugh."

There was no laughter. The silence struck like lightning awaiting its thunder forever.

"I believe that means you should be careful," she added.

Gabriel could sense nothing else in her words but warning. He had expected much more when we called, to hear the strain that had clawed at her voice before she left, to listen to her pleas for him to change his mind, to hear her beg to know his plan, at the very least. He was prepared to refuse it all with a cutting tone of his own, but so far there was no use for it.

Why had he called? Was it to prolong the fight? Was it to yield to the opportunity to reevaluate his thoughts?

_No_, he told himself, _Of course not_. There was no other option. He needed to do this. Emilie needed him to do this. Nathalie needed him to do this whether she knew it or not.

He might have hung up if the phone had been pressed to his ear, but with it sitting half a room away, he found it easier to ask, "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" she echoed. "What do you mean?"

"Where are you now?"

She paused, then said, "I'm sitting outside, on the back porch, looking out onto the lake."

"Is it nice there?"

"Yes. It's beautiful," she breathed, as if seeing it for the first time.

"And Adrien?" Gabriel wondered.

"He was sitting with me for a while this morning. We had coffee. Now, he's down by the water. With a book."

"How does he seem?" Gabriel continued his pace, holding his hands behind his back. He kept his eyes on the phone in the middle of the room.

"He _seems_ fine," was her answer. "But I sense he knows something is amiss. What a strange situation for him, such a sudden vacation for seemingly no reason."

He pursed his lips. Truly, he would feel much more at ease if Adrien was clueless. Gabriel considered that he must underestimate his son. If he was anything like his mother, then lying to him was sure to become more difficult. It was possible that even as time was quickly running down, the walls dividing Adrien from the truth were concurrently growing flimsier. Gabriel glanced away, as though shy. "And how are you?"

"How am I?" Every time he asked Nathalie about herself, she seemed to not know how to respond. Perhaps, she didn't, he thought. Perhaps she was trying to decide how much of the truth she should hide from him. When had she ever been completely honest about herself? There was dismissal in almost every word she spoke, like she was embarrassed of her own agency, of the fact she left fingerprints on glass and memories on the minds of those who meet her.

"How are you feeling?" he prompted again. "I would like to know."

"I'm feeling…" She drifted off like her head was fishing for something she wished she wouldn't find. Gabriel braced for the denial and for a story that was jagged and broken. He believed she too feared the image in its entirety, feared knowing that she _should_ be afraid. Oh, wasn't she a fool too? Then something snapped into place and she spoke her answer quickly, "I'm feeling the way I always do, sir. Tired. Aching. I feel my head has been filled with lead. I'm perpetually dizzy. At night I can't sleep because I can't breathe. And it's getting harder to _move_. I -" She hesitated and then she coughed, hard enough to make him flinch, but it was only once, as if to cut herself off before she said any more. She had already said plenty.

Gabriel was standing rigidly under Emilie's eyes, watching the phone like it might have burst into flames at any moment.

Maybe it was easier for her to answer while she wasn't there to see his face. He'd tried to ask her the previous morning, as she emerged from Adrien's room and descended the staircase to meet him. Her hands were restless, shifting from her pockets to her hair to the adjustment of her glasses, and Gabriel knew, of course, how she felt about the situation, but he had decided to ask her anyway. And she didn't answer. But she didn't need to. Her fear, her pain was written over every inch of her in permanent marker she tried to scrub away but could only smudge at best.

They waited for Adrien to get ready. The sun was rising. Slowly.

He'd been there to see them off with Adrien's bodyguard, to wish them a safe trip, but to the two who stood together at the foot of the stairs, this very easily could have been something much deeper, something much sadder. Gabriel hadn't wanted to ignore it. He wanted Nathalie to know not to worry, but she needed anything else than a lie.

A hand fell on her shoulder, and as though it had hit a switch somewhere inside, she had whirled around and thrown her arms around him, the top of her head pressing up against his chin. She was whispering something, something he couldn't hear, and all he did was stroke the back of her head. When she pulled away, he took her hands in his and asked her, for her own sake, not to think of this as goodbye.

She'd told him goodbye anyway, a few minutes later when Adrien finally came downstairs to bid his father a good week, and then she left, her eyes flickering at him just before she closed the door.

The look lingered. Her touch lingered. Everything lingered. He couldn't take anything away by making her go. Now she sat in Switzerland and spoke to him through the pain of her body. When had it stopped coming in waves? When had she begun to never stop hurting? Why didn't she ever tell him?

She was telling him now, when he was too far away, no longer able to sit beside her, grab her hand.

Gabriel glanced back at Emilie, into her vivid smile. This pain was temporary. Now, there was nothing there to inhibit him. He would get the miraculous, get his wish, and finally get everything back. And she would too. It was the only way.

Still looking at Emilie's face, he said, "Don't be reluctant to rest, Nathalie. I sent you there to rest." _And to protect you. _

There was a silence as if she hadn't heard him. Then she announced, "Adrien's coming back up the hill. I have to go. I'll talk to you soon."

He started. "Nathalie -"

"Yes?"

His jaw hung slack. Whatever he'd hoped to say disbanded like mist into lighter air.

He heard Nathalie inhale sharply on the other end. She didn't wait long through his silence. "Goodbye, sir."

_Goodbye_.

She disconnected.

* * *

"Nooroo, I want you to explain something to me."

Upon hearing himself addressed, the butterfly kwami drifted into Gabriel's periphery. For over thirty-six hours, he had been the only other presence in the house, and yet he hadn't said a word. Gabriel was standing in front of Emilie's portrait, though his gaze stared through it, prying into the vault that hid behind it and the peacock miraculous he kept hidden there. "What is it, master?" asked Nooroo, though Gabriel believed his kwami already knew what was on his mind.

"What Nathalie said last week, about Duusu's power feeding unchecked through the peacock miraculous," Gabriel's brow lowered. He stared deeper. He stared into the miraculous, hoped to see its damage. "Is it true?"

"Well, I don't know, master," Nooroo answered apologetically. "I'm not sure how the peacock miraculous got damaged. Duusu knows not either."

"Say, theoretically, it was true. Would you believe it? Does it make sense?"

Nooroo floated just a little further into Gabriel's line of sight, and he could see his eyes, staring at him wide and fearful. "It does sound possible."

"Because Nathalie claims her miraculous is exceptionally powerful," Gabriel went on. "It seems counterintuitive, does it not?"

"Master, I would not know how it feels. You might have more luck asking Duusu."

Suddenly, Gabriel's vision refocused, and all that gleamed at him was golden paint. He'd come so close to the portrait that he could see the detail of the brushstrokes. He shook his head, taking a step back. "No."

"Master…"

"That creature would hardly be of any help."

"Do you fear her, master?"

Gabriel's eyes turned on Nooroo in a glare so cold and stinging that the kwami immediately cowered, descending from shoulder height to the mid-torso. His voice came as a growl burning deep in his throat. "What would I have to fear, Nooroo?"

His round white eyes did not manage to look his master in the face. "That she does not listen."

Gabriel's anger suffocated.

"Just like her owner."

Quickly, Gabriel looked back at Emilie, this time up into her leaf-shaped eyes. His throat was very dry all of the sudden. He was very, very aware that Nooroo had gained back the courage to look at his countenance, and he tried to straighten it as best he could. His wrist hurt, the hand gripping it turning white as bone behind his back. At last he murmured, "There is great power in not listening." Nooroo, he was sure, would agree. For it had been a long time since he had done anything that wasn't ordered of him. "How powerful could you be, Nooroo?"

"I, master?"

"What are you capable of?" Gabriel asked him as though they were meeting for the first time, utterly unfamiliar with each other, fearing one could induce harm with a touch. _Fearing you could kill me too_.

"I…" Nooroo sounded like he truly didn't know, the way he dragged the word out until it shook in his little voice. "I'm the kwami of the butterfly miraculous, master. I can do what you can do. I just do it -"

"Better?" Gabriel finished, the growl returning to his voice, though not as darkly this time. "Stronger?"

"Maybe…"

"So you can sense emotion just like I can?" Gabriel asked.

"I don't pay attention, master. There's too much to feel if I try to feel it at all."

Gabriel leaned towards the kwami, lowering his voice. "But you can feel it?"

Nooroo flinched. "Yes, master. If I tried, then I could with ease."

"How…" Gabriel almost reached out and closed his fist over the kwami's trembling body, almost pulled him right up to his nose and snarled at him. "How far can you feel? How closely can you feel?" Alas, his hands remained there behind his back, but Nooroo might have guessed what he wanted to do. His terror blazed through his eyes.

"Master, I-"

"Feel, Nooroo. Show me."

Nooroo obeyed. He always did.

He floated as far away from Gabriel as his master allowed him, and then hovered so still in the air that he appeared to be frozen in time. But every few seconds, the wings on his back would twitch. Gabriel tried to pay attention to the pulses of his miraculous, but he couldn't sense a thing. The room was darkening now that the afternoon had arrived, and with it, clouds to blot out the sun leaning somewhere past the height of the sky. Rain would come. He could tell by the hiss of wind, which suddenly breached the quiet and made him hold his breath. Through all the movement of the outside world, Nooroo remained perfectly still but for those infrequent ticks.

How, Gabriel thought, had he not thought of this before? How did it take him this long to realize his kwami was there for a reason, that he wasn't just a whimpering voice in his ear, a sort of built-in conscience begging him uselessly, use the miraculous well. It is not for evil purposes. It is not to exploit and dishevel. It is to _empower_.

The power, he was seeing, was right in front of him. Quiet and obedient and willing to show him everything he was missing just because he asked. Gabriel's hands fell apart from each other, balling into fists at his side. Something cracked inside his head, something hot and acidic, and it burned away his patience, because the _answer_ had been floating there above his shoulder for almost two years, and he didn't fucking see it.

"Master," Nooroo whispered. "Don't be angry."

What else was there to be but angry?

Those big white eyes glanced back. Just as softly, he asked, "Okay. Who do you want to know about?"

He dropped the first name that came to mind. "Adrien."

"He's too far, master."

"Too far?"

"Choose someone in Paris, master."

Inexplicably, Gabriel couldn't remember anyone but the people who were out of his reach.

Nooroo sensed this and offered, "Perhaps, your son's bodyguard would suffice?"

"Yes, whatever."

"I sensed him. He's outdoors. I know because he is made tense about the changing weather. But that's all I could read of him." Nooroo paused. "What about Mrs. Bourgeois?"

"Yes, tell me."

"She is irritated. But it was very hard to catch. It must be because she is always irritated. You see, like you, master, I can best sense rapid shifts in emotion. Rather consistently, Mrs. Bourgeois is quite agitated. I can also feel the fragility of her feelings, like at any moment she could become enraged." Nooroo, as he went on, was becoming confident. "She would make a poor hero. I am very good at discerning heroic people from the other. I am the kwami of generosity. I give power to those in need, and when used well myself, I give power to those who may also use it well."

Gabriel stepped forward, stretching his neck towards Nooroo, who seemed to remember himself and jerked back. "What of the guardian? Tell me about the guardian!"

"The guardian, master?"

"_Yes_," Gabriel snapped, "Of course! What do you think all this was for?"

"Well, I…" Nooroo composed himself, shaking the fear out of his wings. "I didn't manage to sense him." The look on Gabriel's face must have been vicious because he stammered on, "But th-that doesn't mean I-I-I won't ever sense him! I just - I just couldn't now! He's - he's hard to find. Ever since you've learned his identity he's been very careful, master."

"I need you to find him. Everything depends on you finding him."

"I'll find him!" Nooroo yelped. "I'll try."

"You'll _try_?" cried Gabriel.

"We have not properly met, master," Nooroo reminded him solemnly. "Duusu and I...we were lost many years ago. I do not know who he is. But I will promise you, master, as you ask me, I will do what I can to find him. I will help you with your plan."

Gabriel, as he backed several steps away from Nooroo, felt the rigidity in his body slacken as a wave of exhaustion extinguished his rage. He nearly backed into Emilie's portrait, stopping just before his spine could graze the paint. Nooroo's face was dark against the gray light weeping into the office from the windows. The clouds had thickened, and the afternoon was officially a dreary one. The trees outside swayed against the wind; if he were out there with them, Gabriel was sure he would topple.

He dragged a hand down his face. "You've always been able to do this," he murmured to Nooroo.

"I have."

"You never...you never told me."

The kwami tilted his head . "You never asked me to."

"Would you have sooner waited for me to cause another city-wide panic before you admitted your power?"

Nooroo didn't know. He said, "There's a reason we must have masters. We are too strong for this world on our own. One hero's power is enough to save a city a thousand times over. One villain's is enough to destroy it."

Gabriel looked up at Emilie once more, taking in the light of her smile before his knees gave out and he crumbled to the floor with his head in his hands. A great, long side passed through his lungs as he stared through his fingers. The rain started coming down like tiny bullets against the window. Nooroo flew towards him, and then he felt his little hand on his knuckle. He whispered, "Master," once and was silent.

* * *

**Things will start picking up in the next couple chapters. Thanks for reading! Leave a review, and I'll see you on Sunday!**

**~ Lullaby**


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Vacation was not as easy as Adrien expected.

The problem was he didn't know what he was doing. Every time he found himself paused in the middle of a room or halfway up the hill in the backyard, Plagg would tug at his collar to set him back in motion, like a toy car that had beat its front into a wall. He didn't have the obligations which propelled him through the day-to-day at home; no photoshoots, no Chinese, Nathalie asked him to practice his piano, but he didn't have to do it frequently. So often, he took to it anyway, just so his hands had something to do, just so he wasn't standing frozen and dumb in empty space.

At one point, Plagg groaned theatrically, floated upside down in the air and dangled his arms. "I've heard this song three times already!" he whined, much like a child.

Adrien's fingers suddenly seized and the music came to an abrupt silence. "I'm sorry! It's the only one I could think to play! My mind is just...blank."

"Yeah," Plagg quipped. "That's kinda the point, y'know?"

But Adrien didn't. And when Plagg told him this again and again, as frequently and as brassily as the chime of the antique grandfather clock in the corner of the dining room, he came no closer to understanding. How could one simply do nothing? Adrien had never even had the option growing up; he was always surrounded by _too much stuff_ to ignore. He had always had too much, perhaps to distract him from the fact that he had nearly nothing of what actually mattered.

It made sense why his parents never made it here. They were both as restless as he was.

"Read a book," Plagg said eventually, and Adrien's bewildered eyes landed on him.

"Did you just suggest I read?"

"It's better than laying here," the kwami grumbled. "Don't get me wrong, I'd _love_ to lie here, but only if I get to do it in the shadow of my own frivolity." He laughed at himself, then got serious very quickly. "You're thinking too much to lay down. What have I said about thinking?"

He had other suggestions too. Go jump off the pier, take a swim. Learn to skip stones. Hijack someone's boat. Save a drowning person as Chat Noir so you can be a hero in Switzerland too. Adrien appreciated the encouragement, but none of the suggestions felt right, not even the ones he tried (to Plagg's disappointment, he had to forgo the boat and the transformation; luckily no one was drowning). It all just seemed so aimless. The closest thing to genuine excitement he felt stirred when he discovered that if he crawled through the window in the spare bedroom - Plagg's room - he could sit on the roof and gaze up at the clouds. He found himself lying there on Tuesday afternoon when he asked aloud, "What's the point?"

Plagg was nursing one of the few chunks of Camenbert that remained. "Of life, or…?"

"Of vacations? Why do people take vacations? I don't get it."

"To have fun. To relax. To break the unbearable monotony of the day-to-day. I would have thought you needed that more than anybody."

Adrien threw an arm over his eyes. "I don't think I'm built to take vacations."

Plagg huffed. "All that hoping for one and you turn out this way!" In his lack of impulse control, he took a much larger bite than he seemed to intend because his eyes flashed in alarm of how little cheese remained once he swallowed. "Whatever, kid. You're just worried about your dad. You've gotta get that out of your system."

It was true. Every time Adrien's phone buzzed, he jumped, and a cloud of disappointment dissipated through his chest when he saw it was from Nino or Chloe or the group chat with the guys in his class. He'd asked Nino to let him know if their were any akuma attacks while he was gone - so far, there hadn't been - but what he really wanted was for Father to text him, just so he could know for sure.

Everything was fine.

Another part of his brain told him to think differently. Would it not be a greater cause for concern if his father was contacting him frequently? There weren't any patterns being broken. Nathalie had told him that his father had called her Monday morning. Surely, everything was normal after all.

But it seemed to him that Nathalie didn't know how to process that. She, too, was just as uncertain as to what to do with herself, that like Adrien, she resorted to doing nothing. Adrien would pass through the living room to see her reclined on the couch, a book in her hand but her eyes on the ceiling, hard, glazed over, and he couldn't tell if she was thinking of a million things at once or nothing at all. She sat outside in a sunhat in the mornings with her coffee set on the arm of a wooden chair, going cold in the chill dewy air. He'd watch her wring her hands together, and when she noticed he was staring, he would glance quickly away and take a long sip of his own mug to avoid conversation. At night, she retired early, perhaps, because she didn't know what could keep her busy instead.

They acted like strangers to each other. Adrien felt guilty for avoiding her eyes, but she seemed like a different person here. She moved slowly, lost her focus, had a distant look in her face that severely contrasted the sharp and attentive laser-like quality of her usual gaze. He wondered why it baffled him to see her with her hair completely undone, her face pale and untouched by makeup, tying her sweatshirts and cardigans around her waist when the afternoon waned and the sun pierced through the windows as it crawled towards the treeline. She looked like the furthest thing from the business-savvy assistant who handed him a color-coded schedule every morning; she looked like a normal woman, who probably had a normal job working for normal people.

She seemed embarrassed by it too, hardly spending more than a few minutes in Adrien's presence at once, hardly saying more to him than a _good morning_ or _good night_. She cracked her knuckles as she walked past him and had her head tilted towards the floor. Her sunhat got caught in a breeze, and when Adrien handed it back to her, her cheeks colored. She pulled the brim of the hat over her eyes. The hand clutching her book to her chest was white with the pressure of her grip.

As strange as they felt around each other, there was a sort of affinity about them: neither felt that they belonged there, so many miles away from Paris, where surely, other people needed them. No akuma attacks. No additional phone calls from Mr. Agreste. _Everything was fine_. Except it wasn't. Because they weren't supposed to be there. They knew they weren't supposed to be there, and yet they were.

On Tuesday night, Dianne invited them for dinner, and it was the first time during the trip that they tried to act like themselves. She and her children were hospitable and engaging, and they asked a lot of questions. Most of them had to do with being a model and the son of a famed fashion designer, which Adrien answered like the questions he received during interviews, robotically but politely. Nathalie was generally quiet, but she was paying attention, and her eyes were bright and intelligent. He felt a lot better, seeing her there with him.

Dianne's daughter, Noella, who was about eighteen, got bored with the model talk and said, "We've been to Paris before, but that was almost ten years ago. I've seen that in the last couple years there have been superheroes there! It's not fake, is it? Mathias thinks it's a hoax, but the videos have to be real!"

Mathias, the elder son, swirled his glass of wine and shrugged. "I'm a skeptic."

"They're real," Adrien affirmed, unable to keep himself from smiling. "Yeah, I've met them several times. Ladybug and Chat Noir, they're called. There are a few others every now and then, but those two are always around."

"So, they have magic powers, do they?" Noella asked, beaming with excitement. When Adrien nodded his head, she squealed. "That's incredible! We have nothing of the sort here in Geneva."

"There's nothing of the sort anywhere, Noella," Mathias said.

"Boo, you cynic."

"You said you met the superheroes," Alexandre, the younger son chimed in. "What are they like?"

Adrien set down his fork and linked his fingers together in front of his plate, warmed by a sense of mischief and flattery. Inside his shirt, Plagg shifted with interest. "Well, I haven't exactly had too much of a chance to talk a ton with them, but they're both pretty cool people as far as I can tell. Chat Noir, he's a funny guy, real down-to-earth, and he has the power to destroy whatever he touches."

A stillness came over the table. Maybe that wasn't as cool to strangers as it was a bit alarming.

He went on quickly, "And Ladybug, man, she's amazing. Strong and smart and reliable. She's never failed to save the day. Paris would be seriously lost without her. She has this thing called a Lucky Charm that generates an object she can use to help them defeat the villain. It's incredible, the way she puts puzzles together. I've never met anyone so clever and resourceful."

"So, you've seen her in action up close, have you?" Noella asked, and Adrien wondered if he had said a bit too much about his lady. There was a smile in her voice that sounded quite teasing. _I'm not really that transparent, am I?_

He nodded. "A few times."

Dianne took a sip of her wine and then gestured to Nathalie across the table. "Well, what do you think of these superheroes, Mademoiselle Sancoeur? Must be pretty amazing to have people you can rely on to help your city when it's in trouble."

When Adrien looked at Nathalie, his smile faded. She appeared very uncomfortable, and he realized with a stab of horror that this may have been the first time she's ever been confronted with questions about the heroes since finding out about his identity. He leaned towards her just slightly, hoping to exchange some ease through his gaze, but she wouldn't look at him. She answered flatly, "It is amazing."

There was another jarring pause.

She recovered. "Sorry, I don't mean to sound bored. Yes, really, it is incredible. Ladybug and Chat Noir have been with us for some time. You get quite used to them, if you can imagine."

Dianne nodded, flashing one of her warm smiles.

"Well, I can't," Noella replied. "Used to superheroes? With magic powers?"

"I guess if it's your day-to-day life," offered Alexandre.

"I still think you're messing with us," said Mathias.

"Oh! The supervillains!" exclaimed Noella, making everyone at the table jump in their seats. "What of the supervillains? What's the scariest one you've ever seen?"

"Indoor voice, Noella," Dianna scolded.

"Well, that's the funny part, actually." Adrien removed his napkin from his lap and set it beside his abandoned fork. "Okay, try not to lose me, here. There are really only two supervillains: Hawkmoth and Mayura. At first, there was only Hawkmoth, and he used these things called akumas - they're butterflies. The akumas are butterflies - to 'akumatize' innocent civilians into other supervillains."

"What?" Dianne, Noella, and Alexandre said in unison. Mathais took another bite of his salmon and rolled his eyes.

"Basically, Hawkmoth uses his superpower to corrupt other people so they do his bidding. Ladybug and Chat Noir have to fight the villain, release the akuma, and then purify it, so that it doesn't turn anyone evil again."

"Okay, that sounds too complicated," Alexandre said.

"Brace yourself, it gets wilder." Adrien laughed as their faces contorted with bewilderment, then went on. "So it was just Hawkmoth for a while, right? One villain is enough, especially when he can create a bunch of other villains whenever he wants. Well, about a year ago, another villain showed up to help him. _Mayura_." He placed a comically sinister emphasis on her name, waving his fingers in the air as one does when poorly impersonating a ghost or a boogeyman. "Yeah, well, she can create these things called sentimonsters -"

"What-a-monsters?"

"And basically the akumatized villains can control them. So it's like you have two villains instead of one."

Mathais was laughing, while Noella and Alexandre stared at Adrien with gaping mouths. Dianne was shaking her head as though in disbelief, but her eyes were bright with intrigue.

"That sounds nuts!" cried Noella.

Alexandre closed his mouth and pushed his ragged hair off of his face. "Okay, so I have a question. Have Ladybug and Chat Noir ever fought Hawkmoth and Mayura themselves? Or have they only fought the akuma-thingies and monster-whatevers."

"They've fought them before," answered Adrien. "Not often, but they have. Hawkmoth is actually a lot less likely to come out of hiding. Mayura's been spotted more often." His eyes fell away from their faces, a memory seizing him as he spoke. The last time he and Ladybug had faced Mayura. They were with Rena Rouge, and had gone so peculiarly. Adrien remembered the wild light in Mayura's eyes, the horrifying strain in her voice as she shrieked, "_End this_!" He'd frozen, faltering his grip on his baton. The pain he'd sensed, the desperation. What had happened to that calm and cool villainess he'd at one point hated? Who was this angry, broken woman pinned to the asphalt beneath him? Who was he about to unmask? Did he even want to know?

Adrien shook the thought away just as quickly as it came to him. "From what I hear, she's the one to reckon with. Maniacal, I've been told."

Mathias chuckled. "Well, you'd have to be, to pull shit like '_akumas_' and '_sentimonsters_' and city-wide chaos." He put his wine glass to his lips. "Crazy motherfuckers, the both of them."

Nathalie suddenly stood up, and all eyes went to her. The napkin on her lap toppled to the floor, and she said, "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-" She looked to Dianne. "Where's your bathroom, Madame?"

Dianne smiled mildly at her. "It's the second door to the right down the hallway there."

She thanked her and walked stiffly away, and while Dianne scolded her son for cursing in front of guests, Adrien stared after her. He couldn't help but notice how white she had looked, how her hands her balled into quivering fists. Surely, everyone else had noticed too. They were probably too polite to say anything.

The conversation about Ladybug and Chat Noir continued. Mathias' skepticism dwindled, and soon enough he too was listening to Adrien's stories with bated breath. Noella told Adrien he should write a book or make a movie about everything he's seen, and when he told that a film already existed, she shrieked with excitement and started immediately searching for it on her phone despite her mother's orders to worry about it later.

When Nathalie came back, she looked a little better, but the rest of her food remained untouched and went as cold as the coffee sitting on her chair in the brisk early mornings.

* * *

They returned the house that night after nine. Nathalie placed the slice of cake she claimed she was too full to eat in the fridge and announced she was going to bed. Adrien watched her trudge up the stairs, noting how exhausted she looked. She'd grown fatigued rather soon after dinner, but insisted that she felt alright. Dianne hadn't questioned her, but Adrien saw very plainly how weary she looked.

The lake was black as ink, flecked with the little yellow lights of bright windows across the water. Adrien sat at the dining room table, eyeing his phone, waiting uselessly for the screen to come alive. Plagg attempted to make conversation, but Adrien found himself rather tired as well. The high of the night's exciting conversations was dying quickly. It seemed that for every story he could tell that made having superheroes in Paris sound like the coolest thing ever, there was a memory that made a part of him wish they were never needed in the first place.

When he finally gave up on waiting, he took his phone and climbed the stairs towards his room. Warm lamplight poured out from the gap beneath Nathalie's door, and Adrien paused with his feet in the golden spill. Plagg sat perched on Adrien's shoulder, his face stretched into a yawn. "You good, kid?" he asked.

"Should I talk to her?" wondered Adrien. "She doesn't seem well."

"Quite frankly, neither do you," Plagg retorted. Adrien felt him roll, light as a hand. "Well, that evening was nice while it lasted. I admit, I always feel a bit of pride at the amazement of fans, and it's all the sweeter when they're new to it. I could tell you liked it too. Why not relish? Do you really gotta sit and torment yourself all the time? You should go back over there tomorrow. You've got plenty more stories to tell."

"I can't tell them all. They'll become suspicious." Adrien's voice was hollow. He stared into the light on the floor. "Besides I need to…"

His hand hovered in front of the door in a loose fist, but he couldn't bring himself to knock. His questions floated right alongside it, too weak to materialize, just a little too far away. _Are you okay? Are you sick? What happened back there?_

_Are you scared?_

_What do you have to be scared of?_

He thought about these last three days, the way they shuffled around each other like strangers passing too close, they way she combed her loose hair with her fingers when she saw him, folded her arms in front of her instead of behind as she always did back home, the way it made him feel guilty for having to see her look normal. She clearly didn't feel normal, at least not around him. Adrien fist collapsed as his mind shifted between the images of the cool, stern-faced assistant who would enter his room following a curt two knocks, and the woman hiding behind the door now, who might flinch at the rap of his own knuckles and not know what to do with her hair. He backed away from the door, feet landing in dimmer light. Adrien, all of the sudden, didn't know which of the two people in his head was the facade.

Without another word to Plagg, he retreated to his own room and shut the door with haste, like he was trying to keep something out. When had Nathalie started to show that other face of hers? It seemed to him a shadow made real, something she had kept dark and confined to the point of disappearing until one day it became substance. He remembered the way she had spoken to him on Sunday morning, evidently troubled, like the weight she'd been dutifully carrying on her shoulders - never with a word of complaint for all the years she's worked with them - was finally starting to drag her down. Adrien laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling in the dark. All that invisible burden manifested like cinder blocks in his imagination, chained to her feet. A shudder ran through his body. He reached for his phone and opened his messages.

He typed, _Are u ok?_

This way, she didn't have to face him. She could gather her thoughts without having to draw her hands through her hair. Adrien stared at that bright white screen and held his breath as he watched her type.

_I'm fine. I'm just tired._

He exhaled, the air passing through his teeth. Plagg, who had also been watching the screen, clicked his tongue and drifted off towards the foot of the bed, his eyes closed. Adrien didn't feel quite as relieved. He should have. Of course she was just tired, but the biting thought at the front of his head - wasn't she always tired? what was different now? - prevented his thumbs from resting. He replied, _Ok. I was just wondering. U were acting a little strange at dinner tonight._

A minute passed and there were yet no bubbles at the bottom left corner of the screen warning him of an incoming response. He should leave her alone. He should set his phone aside and bring it up again in the morning if he was really so worried, but the grip he had on his phone was solid as steel. He counted another thirty seconds, then slowly typed:

_Are u sick?_

His thumb hovered over the send icon for half a minute. Would she respond? Would she be offended? It was plain to see something wasn't right, and he didn't know how much longer he could go with so many questions idling in his head like fog. Closing his eyes against the light of the screen, he sent the message, then dropped his phone and turned over on his side.

When he felt it vibrate, he winced, fearful of what the answer would be. Hesitantly, he opened the message, read it aloud under his breath.

_No_, she'd written. _I'm just a little stressed. I guess I've forgotten how to relax_.

A smile broke across Adrien's face. He released a breath of relief. Of course. Of course that was it. It had been right in front of his face the whole time. She's spent so many years doing nothing but work, loyal and devoted through even the hardest time in Adrien's life. She was there when he lost his mother, there for the first Christmas without her, there before and after and she had never failed them. Now, she was here, with no obligation but to experience it. Of course, this would be difficult for her. A pang of sympathy warmed his chest. She must be so overworked. He wondered, and the thought brought him comfort, if that was why his father had chosen to send them away. For _her_, because for the life of him, he couldn't understand why he was there.

He had an idea. Adrien pulled up Noella's phone number - she'd given it to him some time after dinner so they could continue talking about Ladybug and Chat Noir. He'd already sent her the link to the LadyBlog.

_Hey_, he wrote, _I know we just left, but I could use ur mother's help tomorrow. I have something planned._

She responded back, _U got it, fanboy._

* * *

To get out of the house, Adrien and Nathalie went into Geneva to visit some museums with Mathias the next day; although Adrien couldn't exactly pay too much attention to them because by now, Mathais had shed his cynical exterior completely and asked questions about Ladybug and Chat Noir nearly the whole time. Adrien was happy to answer, though at some point he had to pretend to run out of stories, because of course, as a regular civilian he could only know so much.

At first, Nathalie appeared to be feeling much better. To steer the conversation away from superheroes, she asked Mathias about his interests. He'd actually worked at the museum for a period of time and was able to tell them a lot about several of the exhibits. She seemed engaged for a while, reading every plaque and infographic she came across, but a little past noon, Adrien noticed her stride easing up, her sharp eyes going dull. When he asked if she was okay, she told him she didn't sleep well.

After the museum, Dianne met up with them for lunch. While Mathias and Nathalie were reminiscing about university beside them, Dianne leaned into Adrien and whispered, "My daughter tells me you have something special on your mind. How can I help?"

They spoke discreetly. Adrien hoped he wasn't asking too much, but Dianne simply grinned and told him he was sweet, that she was more than happy to be of assistance.

They returned to the house in the mid-afternoon, and Nathalie went with Adrien down to the pier. She sat with her feet in the water and a book in her hand and her hat tilted to shield her eyes from sunlight. Plagg rested on Adrien's lap out of view, and Adrien scratched between his ears with his middle and index finger, feeding him some cheese he'd managed to swipe from the restaurant. He thought, they were alone now. Was there really any reason to keep hiding Plagg from her?

He remembered what Plagg said to him before they left, that he didn't trust her, because she was always thinking. Adrien watched Nathalie over his shoulder as she read, the corners of the pages fluttering as the breeze washed over them from the lake. Her face was hidden in shadow and by the brim of her hat, her shoulders arched forward, her fingers tapping against the pier. Adrien waded along the shoreline for a few minutes and marveled at the brilliant blue color of the water. He splashed at Plagg who hissed and splashed him back. Nathalie remained fixed on her book, still as stone and far more pensive.

A while later, he told her he was going back inside, and she replied that she would remain, which was perfect. He texted Dianne on the way up the hill, and fifteen minutes later she arrived with everything he needed. Through everything, she guided him, and stood by the windows to keep an eye on Nathalie down by the water. At five, he turned on some piano music; his father wanted him to practice, but today he would have to forgo it. The windows were open, and Nathalie could listen, sure he was following instruction.

When everything was finished, he thanked Dianne for her help, and she drew him into a tight hug, like one a grandmother would give. She messed up his hair and said, "You're a fine young man. How kind of you to do this!"

"Nathalie deserves it," he replied, blushing.

Dianne glanced back down towards the lake. "That's a wonderful assistant your father has there, to care for you like she does. The best assistants are more like friends, I believe. They understand your needs." She laughed. "That's why I always say my children are my assistants!"

He saw her out, and she wished him good luck.

Nathalie finally came back up the hill just as the sun had gone from yellow to gold. Adrien glanced at Plagg. "I hope she likes it."

"I'm sure she will, kid. If only someone would do something like this for me! A poor hard-working kwami!"

"Oh, you eat more cheese in a day than I eat in a month."

When Nathalie entered the room, she froze, and stared with what looked to be mild confusion. Adrien held his breath as she drew her eyes over the scene, her book slowly lowering from her chest down to the counter beside her. She placed it down gently, as though she was afraid making too sudden a noise would cause it all to disappear. Adrien stood at the end of the table, holding a wine glass by the base with a cloth napkin folded over his arm, like a waiter.

"Adrien," Nathalie said quietly, placing her sunhat on the counter next to the book. "What is this?"

"Good evening, Mademoiselle." He set the wine glass down on the table, and pulled out the nearest chair. "Sit please," he told her.

A small, wary smile shaped her white lips, and she did as he asked her. Once she was seated, Adrien went to the kitchen and returned with a pitcher of iced tea, which he proceeded to pour into her glass. Then, she started laughing. "Do you care to explain?"

He set the pitcher on the counter, and stood back a step with his hands clasped behind his back, much like his father or she might hold them. But unlike either of them, he gave her a wink. "One moment, Mademoiselle."

She stared after him as he went back to the kitchen and brought out two plates of chicken breast and salad. The first, he placed in front of her, and the second right across. Then, he tossed the napkin aside and sat down. Nathalie was looking at him with a baffled gaze. He smiled and said, "Nathalie, you've been looking after me since I was a little kid. You've always been there." He gestured around him, to the food, to the table cloth he'd found folded in the linen closet, to the air he'd sprayed with the calming scent of lavender. "I think it's time I take care of you for a night."

He didn't know what to make of her expression at first. Her fist was pressed into her mouth, her eyes relatively sober. Then, she blinked and suddenly it was like she was wearing a different face. Everything became soft and warm and disbelieving. Her eyes flickered around the room again as if just to double check that it was all real, she wasn't mistaken, she wasn't in a dream with fuzzy edges, mismatched colored, and impossible things. She finally looked back at him, and Adrien didn't know if he had ever seen Nathalie so moved.

"Adrien," she murmured, swaying her head, trying to shake the illusion away. "You really didn't have to do this."

"Well, no, I didn't have to," he replied, "But I did. Because you deserve it."

She looked down at her plate like she was noticing it for the first time. "Where did this come from?"

"I made it."

"You made it?"

"Well, Dianne helped me." Adrien scratched the back of his neck. "She told me what to do. I've never cooked before. It was kinda fun. And we got you these." He scooted out of her seat, and reached under the table to pull out a vase of pink carnation flowers. Nathalie started, both hands shooting up to grab her face, her mouth falling open. "I saw them at the florist's we passed today when we were leaving the restaurant. Dianne went back and got them and…" He set them on the center of the table. Nathalie couldn't take her eyes off of them. "I just thought you might like them. They would brighten up this place a bit."

"I..." She ran her fingers down her cheeks. "I can't believe you…you... "

"Are you okay?" Adrien asked her.

She was overwhelmed, gazing between the flowers and the dinner and him. Adrien realized he had never seen Nathalie cry, not until that moment, when her eyes welled with tears and she couldn't stop them from spilling over. Her chair scraped against the hardwood as she rose quickly and went to stand before the window, her face nearly pressed against the glass, against the sun angled towards them. The room could have been on fire it was so bright. Her glasses were removed, and she pressed her hand to her eyelids, trying to quit the tears. Adrien sat rigidly in his chair, his fingers outstretched towards her. He felt a pang in his heart. Should he have done this? Did she hate it? Was it too much?

He saw her shoulders lurch as she gasped, and he knew that feeling right away, that feeling of wanting to badly to stop crying and being utterly unable to. Nathalie wiped her eyes repeatedly. She tried to be quiet. She shook her head at her faint reflection in the window. He was seeing, now, a third version of her, not the stoic assistant or tired young woman, but a person he had never seen before, that he hadn't even known existed. Adrien started to feel tears starting to gather in his own eyes. What had he done?

"I - I -" he stammered, feeling his cheeks go hot with embarrassment. He cast his eyes to the corner of the room, not wanting to see her or the dinner or the flowers. "I'm sorry, Nathalie. Maybe I shouldn't have -"

"No!" she exclaimed, making him flinch. She whirled around, and before he knew it, she was leaning over him, her arms wrapped around him in a hug. "No, Adrien, don't say that! I'm so sorry. I don't mean to make you feel bad." She pulled away to look him in the face. Her eyes, though wet, were smiling. "This is amazing. I mean it."

Adrien beamed, filled with relief. He didn't know what he would have done if he had hurt her.

She straightened herself and grabbed the cloth napkin he had set aside, blotting her face with it. "I'm so sorry. I have to pull myself together. I wouldn't have expected this, not in a million years. I just - I can't -" She stopped speaking; if she said more she would prolong the tears.

"Why not?" he asked. "You work so hard. You deserve for someone to care for you just like you care for everyone else."

He caught the subtle side-to-side movement of her head, and he couldn't tell if it was for her surprise, or because she didn't believe him, but it was too small to point out. He just wanted her to enjoy herself. She sat back down in her chair, and after she had fully composed herself, they ate. All the while, she stared between him and the flowers. She reached out and felt the petals, rotated the vase. Surely, she must have been thinking, these couldn't truly be here in front of me. Adrien reached for one and held it to her. They are, he thought.

She took it, cupping the petals, gazing into their rippling arrangement, then she set it down beside her plate. "I'm so sorry," she told him. "I wish you hadn't seen that."

"Don't worry about it," he said, waving his hand. "In fact, I don't even know what you're talking about."

She smiled but wouldn't look at him. Her eyes were dark and thoughtful as she stared at the carnation next to her. "I was just...so surprised. It seems as though you've made a habit of catching me off guard. First, Chat Noir, and now…" Her voice cracked, and her mouth snapped shut, hand curling into a fist.

"All good things, though, right?" he asked. He held his breath because he wasn't sure if she thought so. It seemed that she was having a hard time with all of it. Several months ago, she'd said, "You're a better person than I am." It had ripped a hole through his heart, that she felt like she even had to measure it. "I'm just doing my job, and I'm so sorry if I have hurt you by it." Adrien had wondered as he left her on the stairs if finding out he was Chat Noir made her feel unworthy of caring for him, or that every mistake she had once forgotten was suddenly more offensive because they had harmed a hero; he didn't know for sure. The fact was, something had changed that day, when the streets rattled and the only thing that remained stable was the sky. When all the world had returned to normal, Nathalie maintained the devastation, and she kept it inside her. She must do that all the time, he thought. She must absorb every blow and save it like a record.

"Wonderful things," she replied breathlessly, but her gaze kept its shadow.

Daringly, he asked her, "Do you really believe that?"

And now she looked up at him, and out of the darkness of her expression emerged a gleam of sorrow, soft as the light of a single star against a smoke-colored firmament. Watching it happen, it seemed so familiar. Adrien pondered then how many times he had seen such a subtle sadness show its face, thin and clear as cellophane, visible only where it caught the light or wrinkled, stretched across her face, looking like it was barely there, at suffocating all the same. She asked him, "What else could they be?"

Adrien had to glance away, unable to bear it. He hoped to offer a remedy. "My Father and I are really lucky to have you."

He heard her faintly laugh, and the sound carried that same quiet sorrow. She said, "Forgive me for saying it, but you too are a lot alike. Both are filled with so much love to give. It is I who is the lucky one." Adrien looked back at her, and she smiled down at the flower. "He is a wonderful boss. And you are a wonderful son. What more…" she paused, "What more could I ask for? After all this?"

Nathalie didn't finish her plate. She said she was still full from lunch earlier. Adrien assumed his waiter persona once more to clear the table and do the dishes in the kitchen while she sat alone in the dining room, gazing at the flowers. He passed by the door frame and saw that she was no longer smiling. Her eyebrows were angled in melancholy, her head propped up on her hand. By the time he'd finished cleaning, she was carrying the vase with her to the stairs.

"Are you okay, Nathalie?" How many times had he asked that? "Did I do something wrong?"

"Oh, Adrien, no. Of course not. This was perfect." She meant what she said. He could hear it in her voice. So, what was the problem? What was this terrible burden she was carrying, which made her doubt herself so much she cried at flowers and wondered if they were merely a dream?

There was something so profoundly sad about her, something that he couldn't name. When she had gone upstairs and closed her bedroom door behind her, Adrien turned to Plagg and asked him what it was, but his kwami could give him no answer.

"But I can tell you one thing for sure," he said, setting his little black hand on the tip of Adrien's nose, "That lady sure does love you. And if you ask me, I just don't think she knows what to do about it."

* * *

**Pink carnations are said to symbolize a mother's love. :)**

**Thanks for reading, loves! See you Wednesday (hopefully)! **

**~ Lullaby**


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

Hawkmoth closed his hands over a butterfly's pearl-colored wings, the hiss of corruption sharply splitting through the heavy night silence. His lair was dim, and on the other side of the ornate window spilling pale city lights over the patches of dormant insects gathered around his feet, Paris had long since fallen away from the sun. For hours now, it had meandered through a dreary, mist-filled night, the type of night he might prefer to sleep through if he hadn't known that trying was useless. The weight of his exhaustion could not have stood firm against the storm-like swirl of his restless mind.

But he had a mission now, anyway, and when dawn draped its thin gray light over the city, either the world would know his name, or it would hear of him one last time. The thought sent almost painful beats of his heart through his body. Perhaps he swayed with the visceral force of his dismay.

The akuma now cupped in the palm of his hand twitched its blackberry wings. Hawkmoth opened the small compartment at the hilt of his cane and shut the lovely creature inside. Just in case. There was more than enough reason to believe it would be useful. He remembered his exchange with Nooroo moments before transforming. "I hope you'll be careful, master."

Gabriel had rolled his eyes, voice so bitter, he could nearly taste it spilling from under his tongue. "Caution has not reaped any rewards so far."

Well, the akuma was the closest to caution he would manage. Its wings flickered against the tiny panels of its casing, and Hawkmoth thought of his kwami's wings, the way they trembled and drooped when Gabriel spoke to him.

He released a breath from behind clenched teeth as he swept his eyes over the empty lair. Several dozen little shadows, like the shadows of leaves dappled the floor beneath the remaining butterflies. His own shadow stretched long and black and lonely. He imagined it paired with another. The dread that had settled deep as his bones was yet unmatched by anything he had felt prior, but he wondered if it would be eased by the presence of his partner, or if her own desperation would worsen it.

It was well past midnight now. The transformation he bore could not completely mask his weariness. He hoped she was deep enough in sleep to escape the pain in her body. He hoped in another room, his son was just as sound, for if they should not know peace after tonight, at least they could know it as long as the darkness still lasted.

_If anybody accuses you of anything_, he had written her, a mere few hours ago, _you have an alibi. You must act like you know nothing._

_You terrify me_, she had replied.

Hawkmoth, shaking his head, tried to put her and Adrien out of his mind. His hand ached with the force of his grip on the cane. Instead, he repeated Nooroo's instructions under his breath as he leaped out into the humid air of the night.

His kwami had given him quite the shock when, upon being prompted, mumbled, "It's Ladybug, master."

"What?"

"The guardian is Ladybug, master. Ladybug has the box."

This had been the last thing Gabriel expected. He'd have sooner believed the guardian to have made off from the city with the miracle box in tow now that Hawkmoth was aware of his presence. It had been months and months of useless searching, but the old man had surely known he wasn't safe. He supposed it wasn't all that surprising that the box had been handed off to somebody else, but to Ladybug? Who Hawkmoth already pursued at every opportunity?

"It can't be, Nooroo. Enough foolishness."

"But it is."

"How can you know?"

Nooroo could not know, not precisely, but the evidence he provided was convincing. "You often sense the nature of the emotions faced by your victims," he had said, "such as when someone's anger is brought about by the betrayal of a friend or mere troubled luck. I can tell the same. I can read her fear, master." It was fear of failure to protect something important. Fear of making a grave mistake. Fear of the world closing in and forcing two separate lives to become one, of not having enough strength to hold them apart. "It's deep," he'd added, "Deep for the youth of the person. What she holds upon her shoulders is crushing her slowly. This is no mere teenage girl, master."

Gabriel had nodded gravely. It was a sturdy guess, but a guess nonetheless. And yet, he reminded himself, turning to face Emilie's portrait, raising his fingers to the hidden buttons, it was all they had.

"She might be dreaming," Nooroo had said of her. "Her emotions are moving, but they're stifled, like they're shouting from behind a wall."

Up until tonight, Nooroo had been eerily quiet. He stared into space with eyes big as coins, and Gabriel could only notice the little tick of his wide, flat wings when he looked for it. Dutiful as he had always been, Nooroo had searched, unrelenting, for the guardian. Gabriel watched the kwami get lost in a sea of other people's emotions. He wondered how many minds he had to swim through, how many hearts he felt beat and break to find the right one. Why hadn't Gabriel thought of this before, he had wondered a few days ago? Well, evidently it wasn't practical. It wasn't easy, not even for a creature built for the task.

And when Nooroo finally had found both the person he had been searching for and the courage to tell his master, the shame in his voice hit Gabriel's ear louder than his words. _I can control him_, Gabriel had always assumed, by the way Nooroo seemed to smack into a wall those rare moments he'd tried to drift more than a couple meters away from his master's side. _He is mine_. But that couldn't be true, could it? The power that coursed through his body as he leaped between buildings like the shadow of a great nightbird was not his after all. It was Nooroo's. Everything belonged to Nooroo. He was bound by no more than a magical incantation and a useless oversaturation of power whenever he tried to act alone. Everything else had given was a timid show of loyalty, and perhaps hope.

"I found the guardian," he had whimpered, with that voice of shame – and surprise at the revelation we would subsequently disclose. Gabriel's eagerness to act nearly stifled the words hidden within the declaration. _This is wrong. The miraculous should not be used this way_. Yet, in the sheer choice to help was also the remark, _But I know you are capable of better._

Hawkmoth felt blind. Nooroo hadn't been untruthful when he said the guardian would be difficult to track. If the kwami's power constituted a vast, mighty forest, Hawkmoth's produced the gentle aroma of flowers. That ancient grief Nooroo had described was buried deep in the garden of emotion growing out of Paris. Only when he got close enough could he sense them distinctly (he thought of Nathalie, the pangs of desperation which left him almost in agony whenever he held her). Ladybug was not among those flowers. All he had to follow was Nooroo's instruction. How far North? How far West? How many streets over? Of course, Nooroo couldn't name a specific building. He had barely been outside the walls of the mansion.

Not only was the plan structurally impractical, but had Hawkmoth realized his kwami's potential to aid him several months ago, he would not have considered using him like this. The risk was too great. Plunging from a high rooftop to one situated one story below, he sensed himself descending down a path he would not be able to break from.

He could hold Emilie in his arms by the following night - it was a thought that kept him moving despite the trepidation in his head - or he could lose everything, even the hope of her, especially the hope of her.

Hawkmoth looked down over the edge of the rooftop. The streets were empty, the mist in the air thick with dark yellow lamplight. He felt the drizzle of a light rain freckling his clothes, came to a stop, and set down his cane to observe his surroundings. This was how far Nooroo had suggested he go. It was a patisserie, and Nooroo had warned him of this. "Careful of the people living above the bakery, master," he said, scrunching up his face in concentration, trying to navigate the waves. "You must focus and be careful. She's just a young girl, and she will be unsuspecting."

He had no intention of hurting the girl behind the mask, whoever she was (and this place seemed familiar. Had Adrien ever spoken of visiting?), and for the first time since his ongoing war with Paris's superheroes, he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that he was contending with children. What had made the guardian believe that bestowing such young people if that kind of power was a good idea? As effective as Ladybug and Chat Noir had been, was it really their place to be defending an entire city from his treachery? Should they be expected to face such a situation as Hawkmoth entering their rooms at night?

"Take the box," he told himself, "and _leave_." He would not even touch her earrings, not while she slept, and especially not while there remained the slightest uncertainty that whoever lived here was Ladybug at all. The box was enough on its own and would function just fine as a bargaining chip, assuming he could find it.

_For Emilie_, he reminded himself, reaching for the latch of the trap door on the roof, _for Adrien, and for Nathalie_. Hawkmoth felt sick at himself when the door lifted, revealing a dark bedroom below him.

The words that had sent a chill down his spine: "I think you've met her, master. She feels familiar."

Hawkmoth, for all his height and bulk, was soundless as he slipped into the room, careful not to disturb the bed which lay directly below the door. Alarm fired through his body at the sound of faint breathing, a young girl asleep. Ladybug. In the dark he couldn't make out her face, nor did he have time to idle.

Would he be doing this if he wasn't so desperate, even if he had known before that Nooroo would have the power to track the guardian? If his wife's life did not depend on his success, would he have gone to such lengths? He kept stealing looks back to the bed as he pulled open desk drawers with painful slowness as to prevent any noise. If Emilie's life did not depend on his success, he would not have become Hawkmoth at all.

The akuma's wings quivered within the hilt of his cane, and the sound, though softer than breath, filled his chest with dread.

None of the desk drawers hid any mysterious box. Hawkmoth swept his eyes over the room, spotted a lounge chair, a makeup vanity, an undressed mannequin in the dark. Nothing particularly unusual, though the mannequin was an interesting detail, and in fact, a sewing machine sat on one end of the desk.

"I think you've met her, master." Nooroo's remark echoed in his head.

_Have I?_

On the wall above her computer - Hawkmoth had to squint to make them out - were photos of Adrien taken from various fashion shoots, and a few appeared to be selfies.

He leaned in. He squinted harder.

One photo at the center of them all stared back at him, the friendly smile of his son paired with the rather nervous one of the girl taking the photo.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Hawkmoth backed away, rubbing his eyes. He ought to get out of here. He felt ugly enough sneaking into a stranger's room at night, and even more now that he knew it was one of his son's closest friends. His favorite of his son's friends to make it all the worse, and it didn't appear she had the miracle box anyway. Nooroo had been mistaken.

_Of course he had. The box must still be in the possession of the guardian. Nooroo will have to search harder._

Hawkmoth gripped his cane, prepared to reach and lift open the trap door above the poor sleeping girl's bed.

And then -

He caught sight of something laying on one of Marinette's pillows. It was small, bright red, a black spot was placed in the center of its head. Hawkmoth, to his horror, could hear it breathing.

A kwami.

This _was_ Ladybug.

Standing so close to the bed, Hawkmoth could feel the gentle pulses of her emotions beat through his chest, disordered and muted as the girl was fast asleep, but he could sense that fear Nooroo had described, for all its weight and age beyond the hero's years. Truly, she had inherited something much greater than herself, and as troubling things do, it had found its way into her dreams.

His heart skipped when she shifted, and almost as though sensing her, the kwami turned on its back.

Hawkmoth looked about the room once more. It had to be here. She had the box, there was no doubt, and surely not even the girl's parents knew of their daughter's secret life. It couldn't be stored anywhere but in the safety of her own bedroom.

"I remember what it looked like," Nooroo had told him the other day. "It was a black octagonal box, painted in red with the insignia of the order of guardians. It's not very discreet, master. Unless it's well-hidden, you should be able to spot it."

Of course it would be well-hidden.

Marinette - Ladybug murmured in her sleep. Hawkmoth checked every drawer once again. Nothing. Nothing at all. He whirled his head around, searching for unusual shapes in the shadows.

Something glimmered faintly at the corner of his eye.

Hawkmoth turned his head, staring into the other side of the room which was almost too dark to make out anything at all. But a street light outside was shining through the window, and through those opaque shadows, a pale yellow glint caught on an object that appeared to be sitting on the floor.

He approached. A floorboard squeaked. Ladybug didn't move.

The akuma's wings tapped against its container.

Hawkmoth lifted the object out of the dark corner of the room and inspected it.

A phonograph. A very, very old one. Exceedingly out of place in such a room as Marinette's.

_Could it be?_ It didn't look as Nooroo had described, but why else would she have such an object? Hawkmoth held the object as near to the light as he could, held it at several angles. He tipped it back, caught sight of something.

A scrap of paper had but stuffed inside the flaring horn. Hawkmoth pulled it out and read it. A series of bubbles had been drawn, a few filled in and a few left empty. Upon a moment longer of inspection, Hawkmoth noticed that same pattern laid out in the form of tiny buttons on the side of the machine.

He set it on the floor, pressed those buttons as the piece of paper had instructed.

And emerged the box.

Hawkmoth seized it.

Behind him, a sharp gasp cut through the silence, and he whirled around to see the little red kwami dive towards its master's head, heard it smack against her hair. And just as Marinette was aroused, sitting up in her bed, Hawkmoth's hand fell over her mouth before she could scream.

He held her terrified gaze as he lifted his cane and threw open the trapdoor above her head.

The akuma was freed into her room before he went, slamming the door behind him, just as she shouted her transformation phrase and became engulfed in pink light. It wouldn't distract her for very long.

_Now get the fuck out of here._

Nooroo had never previously dared to turn himself upon his master and read the rhythm of his tortured heart, and he had certainly never read aloud. But as Gabriel had traveled by lift to his dark observatory, Nooroo raised himself to float inches from Gabriel's nose. He said quietly, boldly, "Master, you are afraid."

So matter-of-fact he was that Gabriel had been too astounded to snap back at him. He merely drew in a sharp breath, noticed the rapid beating in his chest.

His kwami added, "And you are doubtful. I can only hope, master, that I have done well enough to help you as you have asked and that my power has been used correctly despite its inefficiency. Genuinely, master, despite all of my qualms, I do wish for your sake that it is over soon."

Hawkmoth wondered if Nooroo could feel him now, while he was hidden within the miraculous. If he could, he would feel his master's fear, far stronger now than it was minutes ago, yet even then Gabriel had felt the world shrinking under his feet, they sky closing in above their heads to swallow them in starless blackness. If that was fear, there was no name for what he felt now.

And he had almost walked away. Had he not spotted Ladybug's kwami where it laid in its own state of slumber, he would have made it back empty-handed. He told himself he would have tried again, but cowardice was all too tempting. Nathalie, perhaps, would have been happy to know that, to continue on the middle ground where they had stood for months upon months, failure after failure leaping ahead of them until even their little victories seemed to get them nowhere. In nowhere, they were safe. At least she thought so.

Now, that earth had crumbled. No more standstill. No more stalemate. Ladybug pursued him - he could hear her yo-yo clang against a metal pipe - and he would ensure that this ended one of two startlingly different ways. That was the only thing he could afford to promise.

Hawkmoth had to lose her. She was too headstrong to reason with when she was alone. If that miraculous was to be his, he needed everyone to know what was at stake. _I could use the rabbit miraculous to go back in time and alter reality completely; I could combine miraculous and become unstoppable. For the safety of your city, hand over your miraculous by the setting of the sun and I will give you the rest_. If Ladybug and Chat Noir were truly the defenders of Paris, they wouldn't risk their entire reality for the one life Hawkmoth was looking to save. And if they suspected his bluff, the millions of voices of Parisians frightened for their own fates would sway them. As far as any of them were concerned, he was a madman.

Maybe they were right.

But as long as they were alone in the dead of the night, Hawkmoth could not afford a confrontation. He moved high and low, leaping between rooftop and street corner, fleeing in circles, taking sharp turns, whatever it took to get her off of his tail. The sooner he was free, the better, as with Chat Noir alongside her, they would have greater luck following him.

"Nooroo," Gabriel had murmured to his kwami as he emerged into the observatory, the lift clicking under his feet, "Is this the best that I can do?"

Because he had never before earnestly asked the kwami for his opinion, it was now Nooroo's turn to be surprised. And of all the questions he could have been posed, it had to be this one. "Well, master," he muttered, his gaze drifting towards the window, "Now, I cannot say for sure. I believe that is something only you can know."

Hawkmoth didn't know. He didn't know at all. Not even now.

He paused, leaning himself against a chimney to catch his breath and survey his surroundings. The box remained tightly tucked under his arm. As he'd been running, he heard the various jewelry pieces hidden inside clattering within their drawers, almost as loudly and as erratically as the drumming of the blood in his ears. He held his breath.

Ladybug was nowhere in sight. The mist was heavy, and where it was penetrated by light, he could not see her shape moving among the clouds. Rain pattered on the concrete beneath his feet, and but for it and the occasional sound of cars rolling unassumingly through the streets below him, everything was silent.

He waited. He held his cane before him, prepared to block any coming blow. He looked above, below, around him to check for any sign of her presence. Her anger and fear pulsed through his miraculous, but it was controlled.

Ten minutes passed of no Ladybug. Hawkmoth, sighing heavily, chose to return home. He looked repeatedly over his shoulder. He didn't move in a straight line.

When he made it back through the observatory window, he dropped the box on the floor and fell to his knees beside it.

It was nearly over. He was inches away. And he was so, so tired.

"Dark wings f-"

Another pair of feet slammed onto the floor.

_Fuck!_

Hawkmoth scooped the box back into his arms before Ladybug's yo-yo could seize it. Spinning to face her, he unsheathed the rapier from his cane and pointed it in her direction, baring his teeth. "Don't move!" he commanded.

She was shrouded in darkness, the dim light which streamed through the window above them casting her silhouette in pale silver at its outline. Hawkmoth couldn't see her face, but his miraculous bit into his chest, signaling her rage.

"_Leave_," he ordered darkly.

"You have something that belongs to me, Hawkmoth," she snarled, in a tone which was nearly as dangerous as his. "Should I call you Gabriel Agreste instead? I'd love to be wrong, but this is _his_ house after all."

Hawkmoth reeled, hoping the thick darkness of the lair kept his expression just as obscured as hers. This was the worst thing that could have happened. His lungs tight, he replied, "Should I call you Miss Dupain-Cheng?"

"How did you find me?" she demanded. She spun her yo-yo around and around as she spoke, though her stance remained perfectly frozen. "How did you know I had the box? I don't suppose you followed me home at night? Though, I wouldn't put it past you, _considering_," she spat. She sounded outright disgusted, and Hawkmoth didn't blame her. She, the poised, kind-hearted Ladybug, had certainly never been this angry.

"As it happens, my kwami is rather useful. He could sense your distress. Led us right to you."

She hesitated. "He can do that?"

"All it took was asking." Hawkmoth stepped forward, and admirably, she held her ground. "I didn't know the guardianship had been passed to you. If it's any consolation, I hadn't planned on finding you out."

"It's not," she growled.

"But now we're both in a very precarious position, aren't we? You know who I am just as well as I know you. I'm afraid that means I can't let you leave."

Ladybug shouted, "Don't come closer."

Hawkmoth retreated a pace just to ease her. Ultimately, she was just a teenage girl. "I'm not going to hurt you." He held up the miracle box. "Are you concerned about this? You don't have to be as long as you don't give me a reason to use it. You see, Ladybug, you know you cannot win a fight against me, especially not without your cat, and so you will not be getting this back. But if you leave, and you tell everyone what you saw tonight, I can use the rabbit miraculous kept in this box to go back in time and undo your actions. You are not going to say a word."

"What game are you and Mayura playing at? What's wrong with you?" The mention of his absent partner formed a lump in his throat he tried to quickly swallow. Ladybug went on, "I suppose you want my miraculous in exchange for it. You realize that won't save you. Even if I was foolish enough to give up my earrings, I still know who you are. You're just as immobile as I am," she replied.

"I'm through with stalemates," said Hawkmoth. "And, seeing as I have no choice, I believe there is something I can do to obtain what I want out of you."

A stab of her fear sank in between his lungs. "I'm telling you, stay away."

"Marinette." Using her real name startled her. "You're here. You know who I am and I know you. There is not much more I can do to fight. Listen to me, I know you and my son are close friends."

Something completely unlike the stream of unpleasant emotions he had been sensing transpired. Warmth. Perhaps, it was love, folded between her dread and anger and shock. She whispered his name beneath her breath. "A-Adrien…"

"You care about him deeply. I can tell. Ladybug, come with me. I can tell you what all of this is for. I promise, I won't hurt you. You've come this far. Allow me to show you the truth." Hawkmoth made a show of dropping his rapier, letting it clatter loudly between his feet. A few butterflies were frightened by the noise. They appeared as gentle wisps of light fluttering past the corners of his eyes.

She could hardly believe what she was hearing, and quite frankly, Hawkmoth felt the same. This hadn't been the plan. This hadn't been one of those two sensational endings he had anticipated. All of the sudden, he was face to face with his enemy, knowing her name, standing at the crossroads of condemnation and something else he wasn't yet able to name. Meanwhile, his son was fast asleep one country away, ignorant that his father was wavering at the edge of downfall. What would he learn when he woke up?

Nooroo's words echoed in his head, "I hope you'll be careful, master."

_Caution will reap no rewards._

Finally, Ladybug dropped her guarded stance, her yo-yo coming to a gentle swing, and then stillness. With what looked like considerable effort, her fist loosened on the weapon and let it drop to the floor just as Hawkmoth's had. "If you try to kidnap me, you'll regret it," she threatened.

"You'll be safe," he replied. _I have too many regrets as it is._

She allowed him to lead her, and he conceded to having her eyes on his back the entire time, not once looking over his shoulder. He could feel her wariness as they dropped down by the lift, the brief pops of her fear in his chest for the few seconds where they moved through pitch blackness.

They landed in the butterfly sanctuary to be greeted by those familiar claps of lights awakening upon their arrival. Ladybug's eyes, now visible, had grown wide.

Without a word, Hawkmoth led her forward, over the iron bridge, but she stopped halfway upon seeing the body lying propped up in the glass coffin at the front of the garden. Hawkmoth nearly lost his stride at the force of horror that washed over his body, like he was being buried beneath an ocean wave.

"Relax," he told her, but her emotions did not ebb. "She isn't dead."

"Not dead? She's in a coffin!" Hawkmoth stopped directly before Emilie, blocking the girl's view, hoping that it would make it easier for her to calm down. "What - what have you -"

"_I_ didn't do this," he snarled, suddenly hot with rage, and it was his own. "I have been trying to save her."

Ladybug's hand was pressed to her mouth, she had remained there on the bridge. Hawkmoth could see her trembling.

"Marinette."

"Oh…" she whimpered, something dawning on her. "Is that...is that Adrien's…?"

"Mother," he confirmed, nodding his head solemnly. Slowly, so as not to give her another shock, he stepped aside, so that Emilie was once again visible. He set his hand protectively on the glass, and looking up at her mild, lovely face, such a sadness descended over him. Revealing her this way, to somebody who didn't yet know the truth, it felt like the depths of his horrible grief were being drawn out of and exposed to light, the darkest parts of him reaching a place where he could no longer deny them. His throat tightened. "Em-Emilie."

"What happened?" asked Ladybug, and in the wide open room, her low voice was difficult to make out. She was finally coming forward now, very gingerly.

"She got sick. Very sick. And two years ago, she fell asleep." The words tasted sour on his tongue. He was already regretting that he was telling her, that he was telling anyone - if only this secret could have been kept inside him for all of time - but there was nothing else he could say to save himself. "She isn't going to wake up, Marinette. We knew, before it happened, that it was going to be as good as the end. That Adrien was going to lose his mother and I was going to lose the woman I loved. But, you know…" He glanced at her with low-lidded eyes, "There is a way to fix this."

A hand immediately reached up and caressed an earring. "The miraculous."

"Marinette, I swear to you on Emilie's life, I have wanted nothing more than to use your and Chat Noir's miraculous to bring her back. Everything else I've done, every akuma, every convoluted plot, all of it has been for her sake," he vowed.

Ladybug was just a few meters from him and from the coffin. Her bright blue eyes were gazing affectedly into Emilie's face. Her index finger brushed against her earring still, tapping softly like the raindrops out in the night above them. "Hawkmoth…" she whispered, and she apprehended her own question, but she asked it anyway, "What would she say about all of this? About what you've done?"

The hand which laid flat against the glass closed. Beneath their gloves, his knuckles were surely turning bone-white. "She asked this of me," he told her. "'Promise you'll bring me back,' she said. Lord, how those words delivered a curse unto me. I want nothing more than to have her, if I could only have her. I am so desperate, Ladybug." He paused to take a deep breath, clearing his chest of the emotion that had created such a tension around his heart. "I know she did not think it would take this long. I couldn't tell you what she would say to me if she knew the whole story, but what I know is that she wants to come back. I want her back. Adrien wants her back. We need her."

"Hawkmoth, the wish -"

"I'm aware of the risks," he cut in and closed his eyes. He leaned over the coffin as though in pain. "I would have found another way if one existed. But this is it." _She's alive, she's just out of my reach. There's nothing that hurts more_, he wanted to add, but he forced his mouth shut, setting his jaw agonizingly tight.

But Ladybug's conviction had already started to falter. This woman who lay motionless right before her so nearly bore the image of her son, even without her emerald eyes glowing under the golden lights. Ladybug could certainly not help but think of her friend, think of the things he must have told her about his beloved mother. "Adrien doesn't know about this, does he?" she asked.

Hawkmoth shook his head gravely. "No. I couldn't bear to see him get involved in this. I always wanted to protect him from magic, but I know I could have done a sounder job."

"I would say."

"But there will be no more danger once he has her back," he said. "For this family to be whole again is all I can ask. And now that decision, Ladybug, is up to you."

She stared tentatively at him, her knuckle raised to her mouth to bite at.

"I'll give you time to think about it. I'll give you two days." Hawkmoth gestured once again at the miracle box under his arm. "Either you hand me your miraculous by sunset on Thursday, and put an end to this entire fight, or I find a way to prolong it. Don't make me use time travel, Ladybug. I'd rather change reality in one very small, very clean way than possibly alter everything we have ever known." And the truth be told, he wasn't willing to use the rabbit miraculous at all, but she didn't need to know that. Yet, his fate now rested entirely in her hands.

His words lingered in the air. Ladybug's face was dark and frightened, and there were things happening behind her eyes that his miraculous could not even pick up on.

"I don't expect you to do it for me, or even for her." He nodded his head down at Emilie. "But I would hope you would do it for Adrien."

He left it at that. Not wanting to spend any longer in the sanctuary, he led Ladybug back over the bridge to the lift. She stole glances over her shoulder at the coffin, even after the lights shut down at left Emilie in shadow.

A woman's life now hung over her head. Perhaps it was the cruelest thing he could do to her.

* * *

Ladybug had retrieved her yo-yo out of the observatory and swung back out into the night without another word towards Hawkmoth. It could have very well been that she would go to law enforcement right away, that in the next few minutes, police would be storming the house. It could be over that quickly. Gabriel waited, sitting motionless and stark awake in the atelier, gazing into space, waiting for doom.

It was quiet.

For hours.

The sun was rising behind dull gray clouds when he stood up and opened the vault behind Emilie's portrait. The peacock miraculous glared at him, deep and blue and broken as it ever was. He palmed it for a moment and then placed it where it belonged in the miracle box. The only miraculous missing were the ladybug and cat and his own.

Nooroo stared into the box, into the empty placement where his brooch was supposed to be.

"Nooroo," Gabriel said softly, closing the lid and setting the box in the vault beside a photograph of Emilie, "this was her dream."

His kwami tilted his head at him. "What's yours, master?"

No answer given, the vault was closed with a deep, slow screech of metal and memory. And it was quiet again.

* * *

**This chapter underwent quite a few major changes, so I don't know if it's what any of you were expecting. Originally, Fu was going to be present, but he posed quite a problem for me while writing. This is what we ended up with. I hope you enjoyed it. Things are gonna start getting _rough_. **

**See you all Sunday!**

**~Lullaby**


	7. Chapter Seven

***pretends Chat Blanc never happened***

* * *

Chapter Seven

Thursday morning was cool, a pale yellow sun penetrating the mist that had settled over the lake and between the trees. The water was calm and looked like the surface of a clouded mirror. Adrien stood on the back porch in his pajamas, a blanket wrapped around his arms to shield him from the brisk air. He cradled a warm mug of coffee in his hands, gazing out over the lake into the soft white haze now gleaming faintly gold.

Nathalie was behind him on a chair, her own coffee perched on her thigh and her head tilted back, eyes closed. It was quiet but for the songs of birds and the sound of Nathalie's breathing, which was ragged and uneven, as though she had a cold.

Adrien sipped his coffee and set it down on the railing where he leaned. He glanced over his shoulder at Nathalie. "How did you sleep?"

Her eyes fluttered open, and she regarded him like he hadn't been there when she'd closed them - with a little bit of surprise. "Oh," she murmured, then shook her head. "Not very well, if I'm honest."

He could have guessed. There were dark circles around her eyes and her voice was hoarse. He watched her take a drink of her coffee and then set it beside her. "How did you sleep, Adrien?"

"Better than you did, probably." She smiled slightly at this. "Though I did have trouble falling asleep. I was up pretty late, thinking about a lot."

Nathalie drew her legs up into the chair with her, hugging them to her chest, gave a little shiver at the cold. "What were you thinking about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Father," he answered, and her smile faded, much like the light of a firefly would die. "He hadn't called since Monday, has he?"

"No. But he has texted me." Nathalie frowned a little. "You shouldn't worry about your father, Adrien. It's sweet of you, but it hampers your enjoyment of this place. I'm sure he wouldn't want that for you."

"I know. You're right." Adrien turned back to face the lake, drawing his blanket tighter around him. "I'm really sorry. I just can't get over it. The fact that we're here, it never stops being weird. I've woken up pretty much every day in my own bed until this week. It's hard to get used to. It's hard not to think of him, that he's not here."

"I understand. It's strange for me as well, not to be at work."

Of course, he knew that. It was the fact that had set everything in motion for him yesterday, the fact he thought he could change by giving her what she had never received before, if her reaction was any indication. Adrien had found himself spread out across his bed last night, the memory of her teary eyes piercing through the darkness to keep him wakeful. She'd never seemed so broken down and distant as she had then. He could have reached out to touch her and still be grabbing at empty air. When she'd hugged him, she'd clung for life, but looked so far from solace.

He remembered the way she had held the flowers, like they could dissolve if she every stopped considering them, like her mind was the only thing keeping them existent. Adrien wondered if she had put them at her bedside and closed her eyes expecting them to be gone by the morning, swept away in a dream; he wondered if she had been shocked to still see them there, unmoving all through her restless night.

"Nathalie, why…" He sighed, hoping desperately not to startle her, "Why did you seem so upset last night? Why did you react that way?"

He heard her inhale sharply, before a silence drew forth that made him feel horribly impatient and scared. Two birds exchanged their songs above their heads. For all the peace in the world around them, Adrien took on its shadow, which rolled like a storm within him. At last, she replied, "It wasn't my intention to make you feel bad, Adrien. I'm truly sorry that I did. What you did for me was immensely thoughtful and kind."

"So if I didn't do anything wrong, what was the problem?" he asked, and upon this, he turned back to her. Nathalie looked directly at him, her eyes hauntingly clear and cold. More quietly, he said, "Did you not believe you deserved it?"

She was reluctant to admit it, but her head lowered. "No, Adrien, I didn't."

"Why not?" He stepped closer, but she held her hand out, like she feared him. "You work so hard, Nathalie, you must know that."

"I wish I knew how to explain," she whispered. She drew the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her fists and hugged herself. She looked small. "I don't. I can't say what it is…"

"Do you believe me when I tell you Father and I are lucky to have you?" Adrien took his coffee and sat down in a chair beside Nathalie's. He looked at her profile, which was angled towards the floor, letting him leave her sight.

"I believe you think that is true," she answered. "But I…" He watched her thoughts swim like a traveling shadow across her face before something like fear came over her at once, and she turned away from him abruptly. Her elbow hit the mug resting on the arm of her chair and it rolled across the floor with a rattle of ceramic against wood, spilling the coffee. "Shit," she huffed under her breath, and he flinched, having never heard her curse. "I'm sorry."

Before she could rise, Adrien was retrieving the mug, which had obtained nothing else but a little crack at its rim. He set it aside, went and placed a hand on her shoulder. She stood very quickly as though he had burned her and went to the railing, crossing her arms. The color had drained from her face; her dark hair, tied back in a ponytail, looked black as onyx around her white skin. She took a deep breath. Without looking at him, she said, "I believe you think you are lucky. I believe you wouldn't say so otherwise. Your father...he's told me similar things, but…"

"You don't," Adrien glanced at the coffee now soaking into the wood, seeping between the planks to drip beneath the porch, "You don't have to say anything. It seems hard for you. I understand. I shouldn't press."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me." Adrien became very cold under his blanket at her words. They had the calm of the lake below them, flat as a sheet of glass, but they had the ferocity of lightning. He could tell her mind was firing with a billion volts of energy, and he feared just how much she was hiding. Then, she went on, and the electricity had gone as quickly as a storm-cloud becomes dark. "But, Adrien, I'm not that special."

_I'm not that special. I'm not a hero. I'm just doing my job_. It all sounded the same to him, and in his head it was echoing in a voice other than her own. It was his own voice, his own lie. It had found its way into her mouth, made her cry at the sight of flowers, carved away at the Nathalie he once knew and wished he could have back. And to think it may have begun when she saw the mask flash onto his face; she needed to know it meant nothing.

"I know exactly how that feels," he said. She looked at him in surprise, and then her gaze landed on his hands, where he played with his ring, shifting it up and down his finger, twisting it back and forth. "This miraculous," he went on, glaring into its silver sheen, "I think it's one of the best things to ever happen to me. It's made me free. It's made me happy. It's given me a friend." Plagg, hidden under the blanket, pressed his head into Adrien's ribs affectionately. "And I've met some amazing people because of it. Amazing heroes." He went to sit down again, aimed his gaze to the floor. "But that doesn't stop me from thinking, maybe I don't deserve this. Maybe the guardian made a mistake when he handed me my miraculous, and it's not because I've done anything wrong. It's because there just...there has to be someone out there who would be better suited for the job."

"Adrien…" Nathalie murmured.

"I was worried about leaving Paris for so many days," he continued, "Not just because of Father, not just because of Hawkmoth, but what would Ladybug, what would the people of Paris think of a hero who just disappears on his city? I worried that they would be outraged or disappointed, but most of all I'm afraid -" he swallowed hard - "I'm afraid they wouldn't care at all."

Nathalie sat beside him. She reached out over the space between their two chairs and set a hand on his arm. "Adrien, no, you're _Chat Noir_. Of course they would care."

"Remember what you said to me before we left?" Adrien looked out between the trees into the misty air as though he was gazing into his room on that early Sunday morning. "You suggested I give the miraculous back to the guardian, so it could be handed off to someone else. I know you meant it as a way to deter suspicion but…" He sighed, leaned back in his chair, and Nathalie's hand fell away. "But I just couldn't help but think, what if whoever she chooses is better at it than me? What if she decides she doesn't need me - Adrien - anymore?"

She winced beside him, turned her face away. "She would never think that."

"How do you know?"

"Has she not told you in the past, how much she cares about you? How much it means to her to have you as a partner?"

Adrien pursed his lips, remembering all of those times she's called him irreplaceable, the other half of her team. Her eyes smiled when she called him "My kitty", and his heart soared every time. He remembered the messages she would leave him when he was running a little late to a fight. "We are Ladybug and Chat Noir," she declared, when no one else was listening. "Sometimes," he whispered, "your mind makes it hard to believe things that are right in front of your face. All I want to do is help her, save her, and I manage it sometimes, but there's so much I feel like I can't do. I can't think the way she does. I don't have her heart. For every time she has said she needs me, I wonder twice over if she really meant it. I would do anything for her, but…" he dabbed his eye with the blanket, taking a deep breath, "Will it ever be good enough?"

A very peculiar silence punctuated his question, and not even the birds sounded to fill the space. Nathalie sat still as stone beside him, her eyes stormy and unblinking. Finally, "Would she lie to you, Adrien?" she asked gingerly.

He shook his head. "No." Then he turned to her, and she must have felt the heat in his eyes because she shrank deep into her chair. "Would I lie to you, Nathalie?"

"As if you haven't," she replied, raising an eyebrow.

"Would I lie to you _now_?"

Her eyes flicked to his ring and then back to his eyes. He wished he could understand why fear flew out of her face at him. What reason did she have to apprehend the worst, after everything? Then she answered, "No."

"So why do you not believe yourself when you say the same thing that I do?" he questioned, softening his gaze, hoping to encourage her. "When I tell you how important you are, is it any less true coming from your mouth than mine?"

She closed her eyes and put her hands to her forehead. "Adrien, I can't...I can't answer that."

"Just tell me," he urged her. "I promise I'll understand. Please." He touched her wrist. She didn't move. "I don't want you to hurt anymore."

"Oh Lord," she whispered with a shuddering breath. She sounded close to tears again. "Adrien…"

"Nathalie, I've known you for most of my life. You've always been there. You've never left." He let her go, recoiled back into his chair just to make sure he wasn't pressing so hard that she would break. "You have to know how selfless you are, how loyal, how hard-working." He paused as she slowly opened her eyes, staring down at her feet, leaning forward, as if in pain. "How important."

"I…" Her breath hitched. She sat and waited until the air could pass through her lungs without shaking. "I know. It's so...it's so hard to hear it."

"Why?" he asked her.

"I couldn't tell you. I'm sorry." Nathalie's hand moved from her forehead to her cheek, and she pivoted her head to glance at him. She looked as though the conversation had aged her. "It's not that simple. But, Adrien, your anxieties about Ladybug, about how she sees you, about wondering if you're replaceable, well, you could swap out your name for mine and tell nearly the same story. Though, of course, I'm not a superhero. I don't have the weight of a city on my shoulders, but would you hate it if I told you it feels like I do?"

Adrien shook his head, smiling gently. He'd feared he was asking too much, trying to remove too large a boulder from the inside of her head and dig up too much of that sadness that had so recently shown its face. But she looked ready. Tired, but ready. It must have been a comfort to realize that she and he weren't nearly as different as she had thought for so long.

She sighed, brushing a couple fingers through her ponytail. "I-I love my job." _Love_ sounded odd, like it didn't fit in her mouth. "But it's hard. It's very, very hard. Harder than you know, and it's not because your father makes it difficult for me. But I always felt out of place there, in your house. I didn't always know what I was there for. Business was business, and that was the easy part, but you…" she trailed off, staring guiltily at him. "I'm sorry to say this, Adrien, but it was _hard_ to watch you grow up, because it was like walking a tightrope. I never knew how close to you I needed to be. I managed your schedule, I was an educator, I've watched your life as it's happened, but...what did that even mean? What did that even matter? For so long you had two parents who loved you and wanted the best for you, and I wanted the same, but where did I fit into that?"

Stunned, Adrien let the blanket fall from his shoulders, and it pooled around his lap.

"I didn't think of it much back then, but what if I had been fired? What if I had quit? Then I would have had to walk away from something that wasn't just a job but had become a piece of my life." Nathalie looked shocked at herself, as if she couldn't control the words that were leaving her mouth, but she kept going. "You're the closest thing to a son I've ever had, Adrien. There was a chance I could have left that behind. And then...and then your mother….You don't need me to say it was hard. You loved her - and she loved you. You were so close, and all that was left was me and your father, two people who didn't know, who still don't know how to fill the space she left behind." Nathalie slipped her fingers under her glasses to wipe her eyes. "Gabriel, he's your father. He'll never leave you. I know your relationship is far from ideal and I could have tried harder to help mend it, but, Adrien, he is _always_ going to be there. I? - what am I? I have this responsibility and this longing to hold everything together, but I _can't_. I'm not your mother. I could be anyone. All I can do is come up short. All I can be is not enough."

"Nathalie!" Adrien exclaimed. He launched himself out of his chair and put his hands on her shoulders. She looked at him like she was looking into the face of a ghost. "Oh my gosh, never say that again!"

Her alarmed stare eventually settled as his only grew wilder. She brushed away a tear with her finger tip, and a smile broke through the pain in her face, like a ray of light through heavy clouds. She took his hands and held them. "Only if you promise to do the same, Chat Noir."

Chat Noir. It was the first time she had ever referred to him by his superhero name. Adrien felt himself relax, his skin going cold again as he remembered the cool morning around them. By now, the mist was dissipating, the gold in the air slowly beginning to vanish out of the clouds, leaving clarity and the sapphire lake below them.

He nodded at her. "Okay, deal."

Nathalie let his hands go and he stepped away. Adrien took back his own coffee and finished the rest of it in a single mouthful. He wiped his lips and said, "Nathalie, you're very brave."

"Thank you."

"And you deserve those flowers."

She was thoughtful for a second. "I think I may believe you now. And you deserve Ladybug's trust."

This made him blush. He turned away as he thought of his lady, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, and he wondered if she looked forward to seeing him again just as much as he did her.

He was drawn out of his daydreaming but the sound of Nathalie coughing behind him. She had the sleeve of her sweatshirt pressed against her mouth. She paused to heave a deep breath and continued coughing, her eyes shut tightly, her hand gripped into a fist.

"Hey, are you alright?" he asked, voice charged with worry.

She held a hand out to him. "Sorry," she said hoarsely. "It's nothing, just a bit of a sore throat. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

She smiled, but it wasn't convincing. "After all that? Yes, Adrien. I'm great. Better than I've been all week."

* * *

He was with Noella when his heart jumped into his throat.

She'd invited him over to ask more about Ladybug and Chat Noir, and though Adrien really wasn't in the space to talk more about them, he figured it was better to kill time with her than in the house. They were hanging out on her family's boat, which was docked at the pier behind their house. The air had gotten warmer as the day matured. Now in the early afternoon, Adrien was comfortable in a t-shirt in shorts. Noella was laying on a towel, sunbathing, asking him question after question, which Adrien mostly answered absent-mindedly, hardly hearing them.

And then she asked, "Did you know Hawkmoth was spotted last night?"

Adrien's head snapped towards her. "What?"

"Yeah, it's on the LadyBlog." She was scrolling through her phone.

"He rarely shows in the public!"

"Well, he showed last night. Exciting, right?"

Adrien fumbled his own phone out of his pocket, but he couldn't seem to open the LadyBlog fast enough. "Show me!" he demanded, lunging towards her. She found his urgency amusing and giggled as she handed him her phone. Adrien read through the paragraph Alya had posted that morning.

_A total of four witnesses have contacted me claiming they saw Paris' most notorious supervillain, Hawkmoth last night at around one in the morning, on the move and traveling by rooftop. All four witnesses described that he appeared to be holding something in his arms, and three claimed to also see Ladybug in pursuit. One witness provided photographs, seen below. This marks only the fifth known instance of Hawkmoth's presence in the public. There was no known akuma attack. As of yet, no word has been heard of Ladybug or Chat Noir. Stay tuned for updates, LadyBloggers._

_~Alya Cesaire_

Adrien looked through the images, cursing the bright afternoon sun. They were dark, and he could make out very little, but sure enough, a large figure with a shiny silver head was rather visible in at least one of the pictures. One image displayed Ladybug, a mere blood red blur swinging between rooftops, hot on his trail. Panic flared through his chest. He refreshed the page, but there had been no updates since Alya created the post at 8:26 that morning.

Adrien handed the phone back to Noella. She laughed and said, "Dude, you look sick. Aren't you used to this sort of thing happening?"

"There was no akuma attack," he mumbled in response. "No akuma attack? Why? What was he doing out on his own with no akuma? That doesn't make any sense."

"Doesn't mention anything about a sentimonster either." Noella rolled onto her back. "Maybe he just wanted a fist fight. Sometimes you gotta say, 'Fuck magic. I wanna punch somebody.'"

_Something happened_, Adrien thought, unable to reply. _And I wasn't there_.

"Seriously, though, are you okay?" Noella was glancing at him, finally, with a sincere look, the humor having gone from her eyes. "You seem really worried. Weren't you the one who said Hawkmoth isn't all that scary?"

Adrien could only look at her. His heart was drumming. _Ladybug hasn't said anything. What if something happened? What if he hurt her?_ He turned away from Noella and pulled out his own phone. He texted Alya, _I heard Hawkmoth was seen last night. Any updates from Ladybug?_

He texted his father, _Is everything fine?_

"Is this, like, a big deal?" Noella wondered behind him. "I know you were talking about it at dinner like it was this really cool thing, and the villains weren't that threatening or whatever, but is this an actual problem? Adrien?"

Alya was typing. Adrien chewed on his fingernails, watching the screen while the blood roared in his ears.

"Adrien." She tapped his shoulder, and he waved her off. Alya had replied. _No, nothing. Not to anyone. I'm kinda worried._

He spun around so quickly that Noella flinched. "I'm sorry. I have to go."

Not waiting for a response, he leaped off the boat and started running back to the house. Noella may have called after him, but if she did, he didn't hear her, not over the beat of his heart and the rush of wind past his ears. Once they'd gotten far enough away from her, Plagg emerged, flying next to his face, staring with narrowed green eyes. "Are you sure you're not overreacting?"

"No way, Plagg. Something has to be wrong."

"Well, what do you think you can do about it all the way over here? Adrien -" Plagg nearly hit a tree and dodged. "Adrien, you need to calm down. Take a deep breath. Geez, one would think you've been hoping something would go wrong."

"Not hoping, Plagg, dreading."

"You want an excuse to go home."

Adrien halted suddenly and snapped, "Do you honestly think this isn't something to worry about? That Hawkmoth showing up out of nowhere with no akuma, no Mayura, and leaving no Ladybug to tell anybody what's going on - is no big deal?"

Plagg was shocked by the venom in his holder's voice. "Adrien, it's gonna be fine," he said quietly.

"No!" Adrien took off again. "It's not!"

He sped up the porch steps when he arrived back and charged through the door like he was trying to bust it off its hinges. Plagg followed behind him, his ears folded back against his head. Adrien called Nathalie's name until she finally appeared on the second floor looking down over the railing. "Adrien, what's the matter? Are you hurt?"

"Look at this!" He pointed at his phone. "It's on the LadyBlog. Something's wrong."

He was anticipating something like Plagg's reaction from her, but hope fluttered in his stomach when her face lit up with concern, though she managed to bury it quickly. She started to descend the staircase; maybe apprehension slowed her pace, but Adrien met her halfway up, thrusting Alya's post before her glasses. "Look! Read it!"

She did. She read it twice. Three times. She looked through the images. She read it again. Adrien couldn't interpret her expression. Her eyes were hard, but busy, like she was trying to suppress a myriad feelings. She inhaled audibly, as though about to speak, but she said nothing. Eventually, her eyes stopped moving across the words on the screen, and she just stared at it blankly, speechless.

"Nathalie," Adrien prompted. "Maybe we should go home."

Now she tore her gaze from the phone and looked at him bewildered, as though she had just come out of a daze. She shook her head. "No, we can't."

"What? Why? Something has to be wrong, right? If it's been over twelve hours since anyone has heard from Ladybug, after Hawkmoth was seen in public, being chased by her, then -"

"Look, I understand you have cause for concern, but we can't go home now," she told him, handing his phone back. "We're here until Sunday. I'm sorry."

She started back up the stairs, but he grabbed the sleeve of her robe - why was she wearing a robe? - and stopped her. "When was the last time you texted Father?"

This, she jerked at. "What?"

"When was the last time you've heard from him? Has he texted you today?"

"Why would - why are you worried about him?" she demanded.

"Why would Hawkmoth himself being doing out at night expect to hurt people?" Adrien asked back, raising his voice until it echoed in the house. "Why shouldn't I think he would hurt my father, a famous fashion designer?"

"Adrien, listen, you're being overemotional." Nathalie set a hand on his arm, her grip heavy and firm, like she was leaning on him. "The LadyBlog doesn't say anything about that, does it? You're not thinking rationally. When has Hawkmoth ever targeted anyone with something other than an akuma? He wouldn't - you have _no reason_ to believe that."

"No reason? Hawkmoth is evil, Nathalie! He hurts people almost every day, and I'm not supposed to worry?" He shook her grip away and she took the banister instead. Adrien made his way back to the ground floor. He scrolled through his phone until he couldn't bear to look at it anymore. "Whatever. That isn't - that isn't the point. The point is I wasn't there when I was needed. I knew it. I knew something bad would happen if we left for so long. Ladybug could be hurt. Anybody could be hurt, and we wouldn't know it. Maybe if I had been there to help Ladybug, Hawkmoth would be defeated, or at least people would have any idea that she's okay right now! But...but she might not be okay. And it could be my fault."

Nathalie had followed him down the stairs. She was gazing at him very strangely, her eyes seemed unfocused, and her hand still reached for the banister.

Adrien tossed his phone onto the couch and stared out at the lake. His face was hot. His hands were shaking. He needed to calm down, needed to think straight, so he could figure out what to do next and what to say to convince her to let them leave early. Even if nothing was wrong, Adrien would feel better to know for sure. He would feel better to be anywhere but here. "Nathalie, please it isn't worth it to stay here."

_Thud_.

He whirled around, and his racing heart skipped a beat. Nathalie was on the floor, fallen on her hands and knees, and even worse than the sight of that was the sound of her coughing, deep and rough and Adrien could feel the bramble in his own chest just by listening to it, the way it must have been tearing apart her lungs until they felt like they were on fire.

He ran to her side, knelt down beside her. He tried to place his hand gently on her shoulder, but she jolted so much that he simply couldn't keep it in one place. Nathalie gasped for air, and her breathing caught, sending her into another terrible and ragged bout. She held her sleeve up to her mouth. Tears glittered at the corners of her eyes.

"Nathalie!" he cried. "Oh my gosh! What's wrong?"

He thought he heard her say something, her voice staggering out between her coughs. "_No-th-ing_." Adrien had no idea what to do. He didn't know whether to rise to his feet, or stay beside her. Run to Dianne or call an ambulance. He just froze. He waited out her episode, waited until she could tell him what to do. She remained there, her arm still pressed to her mouth, her breath coming coarse and broken.

Then, she placed her hand down on the floor, and turned her face to him. Adrien's blood run cold. She was pale. Deathly pale. Had she looked like this when he came in? Did he not notice the strands of hair stuck to her forehead by sweat, the heavy shadows under her eyes, the bright blue veins crawling through her hands like bolts of lightning in the sky? His mouth went totally dry. Had she been this sick this entire time? Over and over, he asked if she was okay, and over and over, she said that she was. Why did she lie? Why did she lie?

"Nathalie," he whispered, voice trembling with fear.

"Adrien…" She sounded far away, her eyes didn't even appear to be seeing him.

He stood up and helped her to the sofa. As soon as she was laying down, Adrien grabbed his phone and opened his messages, writing another text to his father.

_We're coming home_.

END OF PART ONE


	8. Chapter Eight

**PART TWO**

Chapter Eight

Nathalie had always liked the snow. As a child, when her sister would lock her out of the bedroom they shared, she would crawl up to the attic and press her face against the small round window that looked over quiet street out front. During the snow, she'd watch for hours, as long as it was coming down, fascinated by the pristine silence only ever broken by the rush of wind, and the crystalline brilliance that coated rooftops and sidewalks. Nathalie didn't think it could ever snow enough, and it was always gone too soon, leaving the asphalt dark with moisture and shining like obsidian, and the shoes of people walking by caked with mud and slush. She thought all beautiful things must be like snow, perfect and peaceful and brighter than the clouds, and yet all too temporary, leaving the world dull and yearning for its return.

In Paris, the snow rarely fell as it was falling now, and as Nathalie sat at her desk in the corner of Mr. Agreste's office, she watched with the eyes of the girl who used to stare through that attic window, and had a mirror been near, she might have glanced into it and seen herself at eight or nine years old, back before she knew just how swiftly beauty fades away. Only something this lovely could sink so quickly into the mud, she thought. But there was hope today, as temperatures would not be exceeding zero degrees Celsius for the next week. Might it remain this way, she wondered, for just a little longer? Might I get lost in that perfect cold white blaze and be swallowed by the wind?

The pen she had slipped behind her ear clattered onto the floor, and she tore her eyes from the window and grimaced as if it pained her. Nathalie pivoted in her chair to retrieve it, and when she lifted her head again, she met Mrs. Agreste's eyes, gazing at her from the open doorway of the office.

"Oh," Nathalie said, setting the pen down on her desk, "Good afternoon, ma'am."

Emilie smiled warmly, her face a ray of light glowing amidst the winter that surrounded the mansion. "You're not busy, Nathalie, are you?"

She felt her face flush and wondered how long Emilie had been standing there, watching her gaze so longingly at the snowfall while a half-written email went dark on her computer screen. She turned a bit away to hide her coloring cheeks and answered, "No, ma'am."

"Great. Do you think you could do me a favor?" Emilie asked, her musical voice filling the room.

Nathalie nodded. "Of course, ma'am. What do you need?"

"Well," Emilie began, stepping further into the room, letting the door close behind her. Her golden hair, curled to perfection, bounced as she walked. Nathalie found herself rolling her chair back a few centimeters. Emilie had this habit of getting just a little too close to whoever she was talking to. Nathalie had developed a habit of her own in backing away. She didn't like that she did it. She worried it made her seem intimidated by Mrs. Agreste, which, as she told herself, she wasn't. There was nothing to be intimidated by. "You see, Adrien was supposed to have a play date with Chloe this afternoon, but her father called. Apparently with this harsh winter, the poor thing is feeling a little under the weather, and she can't come over."

Once again, Nathalie nodded. "Okay, I see. Do you -" she faltered as Emilie set her hands on her desk and leaned over it - "Do you need me to make a change in his schedule, then?"

Emilie chuckled lightly. "Oh, no, not that. The problem is, Adrien hasn't seen Chloe in a little while. He was really looking forward to this afternoon. I just told him that she won't be coming, and he's quite upset. I was wondering if you would mind keeping him company instead? I know it would mean quite a lot to him if he had somebody to spend his time with. I think he's feeling a little lonely."

Nathalie stared. She didn't very well know how to keep a seven-year-old entertained, not to mention she lied about not being busy. She hadn't been making a great show of it, but a numbered checklist laid somewhere buried beneath whatever other papers and notes to herself she had written, including a faint mindless sketch of the winter wonderland building on the other side of the window. The snow tended to do this to her, made her feel that time was paused. Of course, it was nothing but a feeling, and now she wasn't exactly free to spend her time with her employer's son.

But while Emilie gazed expectantly down at her, the gentle curl to her lips looking sharp and imposing while paired with the vibrant gleam of her eyes, Nathalie didn't sense the strength in her heart to refuse. Warily, she pulled her chair back towards her desk and dipped her head. "Yes, of course. I'll be glad to."

"Excellent, thank you, Nathalie. I know he'd appreciate it." Emilie straightened herself, holding her hands behind her back as she waited for Nathalie to organize her scattered desk and log out of her computer, the half-written email saved in her drafts to be sent another time, perhaps when the snow had stopped and she had no more to look at than motionless white city that had become blank as an untouched canvas.

Nathalie hadn't expected to be so involved with Gabriel and Emilie's son. Adrien was one of the most pleasant children she had ever come across. She didn't generally like them, though she supposed it wasn't their fault they were mostly useless and nearly always overemotional. To be fair, she remembered very little of what it was like to be a child. Watching snowfall from the attic, wandering the neighborhood alone until her feet ached, reading books with a flashlight in the dark of her closet when she wanted to forget where she was, memories like that resurfaced only when they were relevant, and that was exceptionally rare. So rare that she felt her spirit become heavy as she followed Emilie out of the office and up the stairs towards Adrien's bedroom. At her desk, she was leaving behind that awestruck version of herself. Nathalie guessed she liked that about children, that little things could brighten their eyes, even as the rest of the world existed in darkness.

Adrien's childhood was nothing like hers, so even if she wasn't so many worlds apart from her younger self, she was already worlds apart from him. Why was it so, she wondered, that everything in her life felt so far away, no matter how much space it took up, a corner of her mind or every single room in this cold, soulless mansion?

Emilie rapped her knuckles twice on Adrien's door before entering, and Nathalie came in behind her. The yellow-haired boy was sitting on his bed, wrapped in his covers and holding a small toy airplane. When he saw his mother, he lit up, untangled himself from his sheets and ran to hug her, as though he hadn't only seen her a few minutes ago when she told him his playdate was cancelled. Emilie ran her fingers through his hair and patted him behind the shoulder. "Adrien, sweetheart, I know you're sad about Chloe not being able to play, so I asked Nathalie to come keep you company."

Adrien released his embrace and peered at the woman still hanging back in the doorframe. Nathalie smiled at him and felt a strange relief when he flashed his wide grin at her in response. She cursed her nerves; it was like she hadn't been working for his parents in their house for two years already, and keeping a schedule that seemed to her unnecessarily tight for a child of his age. He smiled at her because he knew her, because he liked her bright red hair ("Like a tomato!" he'd exclaimed when he saw her for the first time), and because when he asked to try on her glasses, she'd sometimes let him.

"Hi, Nathalie!" he said, leaning on his mother's leg.

"Hello, Adrien," she replied and she stepped further into his room.

Emilie knelt before her son, and he turned his green eyes, so exactly like hers, back to her smiling face. "You be good now. Do as Nathalie tells you. Your father will be home pretty soon, okay?"

"Okay, Mom," he said, nodding in that grave way children do when they're listening.

"I'll see you on Tuesday, alright?"

Nathalie reeled.

"Now give me a hug, sweetie."

As Emilie pulled Adrien back into an embrace, Nathalie fumbled for the schedule that she'd left back at her desk. She had half the mind to leave Adrien's room and retrieve it. She looked over her shoulder, down the stairs towards the office. Had she been mistaken?

A few seconds later, Emilie was back on her feet and walking out of the doorway, past a still-dumbfounded Nathalie. "Thanks again," she told her. "It means a lot."

"Mrs. Agreste," said Nathalie, and she paused and looked to her patiently. "See him Tuesday? Are you going on another trip? I hadn't realized."

Emilie shrugged. "Yes, well, this was rather spontaneous. I'm sorry, I know I should have told you, but I guess it slipped my mind. Don't worry, like I said, Gabriel should be back from the office some time this afternoon."

If she had been talking to anybody else, Nathalie might have argued, but facing Emilie, she could only keep her mouth shut and nod her head. "Yes, ma'am."

Now Emilie made use of her quirk; she took just a step too close and cupped Nathalie's cheek with her soft and slender hand, and Nathalie could only hold still and stop herself from breathing. She had this captivating nature, this beauty of face and of voice and of soul that one could feel as though it had seeped into their blood like a drug. Years would pass and Nathalie would build her immunity to such an intoxication, and by then she will have simply learned not to ask further questions just by making a habit of silence. But still young and susceptible to all things lovely (wishing she was worthy of them, before deciding she wasn't), Emilie's touch and jewel-like stare had their overwhelming power.

"I'll be going now," she was saying when she drew her hand away, after only a couple seconds. "Have a good time, Nathalie. Tell Adrien I'll call him tonight."

She descended the staircase, leaving Nathalie watching after her from the door and a child waiting within his room.

When she returned to him, he asked her, "What do you wanna do, Nathalie?"

"Oh, well," she murmured, rubbing her cheek, which was warm to the touch. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

He beamed at her, eyes big. "We get to do what I want? Are you serious?"

"Yes, why not?"

He started jumping and clapping his hands. "That's awesome! I always have to do what Chloe wants to do when we play. Now I can do what I want!" He ran to his bed, grabbed the toy plane he had been holding earlier, as well as a little helicopter from his bedside table and ran back, holding the helicopter to Nathalie's hands. "Let's have a race!"

She took the toy. "A race?"

"Yeah!" He held out a pointer finger and started drawing it around the room. "So, first we're gonna climb over the bed, run under the basketball hoop, around by the windows, then up to the second level, back and forth up there, then back down, and the first one to land on the bed wins the race!" Adrien was practically trembling with excitement. He held his plane above his head and made a motor-like sound with his lips. "Ready, Nathalie?"

"Should we be running in your room?" she asked, sweeping her eyes over the enormous space. Various toys lay scattered over the floor. She was especially uncertain about him running up and down that spiral staircase.

"It's big!" he said. "I run in here all the time! Don't tell Father, though. Ready, set, go!"

He took off, waving the plane through the air. Feeling foolish, but not wanting to disappoint him, she followed after him. She took long strides and spun the helicopter blades with her finger, rolling her tongue quietly, sheepishly trying to humor the child. Adrien bounced across his bed, laughing as he rolled off the other side. As he passed under the basketball hoop, he looked back and yelled, "You have to actually run if you wanna win!" As he soared under his windows on the far wall, she climbed over his ruffled sheets and watched him, more concerned that he didn't trip and hurt himself than with being an actual contender.

Adrien, who fell into a pattern of airplane noises and jubilant laughter, clattered up the staircase to his second story shelves of movies, more movies than Nathalie had seen in her entire life. He took a pause to grab the railing and exclaim down at her, "I'm gonna win, Nathalie!" and continued. She yelled at him to be careful on the way back down the stairs, and he mostly listened, nearly giving her a heart attack by leaping down the last three steps. He screeched cheerfully as he ran and dove onto his bed. His plane was thrown up into the air in victory. "I won! I beat you!"

"You sure did," she said, clutching the helicopter to her chest. She was at the bottom of those stairs now, having chosen to stand and wait for him to finish rather than go up herself. "That's a super fast plane you have there."

He looked proud. "Isn't it cool? I've never been on a plane before. "Have you ever been on a plane, Nathalie?"

"A couple times."

"Are they scary?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Mom and Father have been on planes too. Mom goes on planes all the time. She's probably going on a plane now." One of the other few things Nathalie knew about children was how quickly their emotions can change. The energy in his eyes was gone with a blink; they went dim and wistful. He studied his toy. "She's gonna come back on Tuesday."

Nathalie gazed at him, completely uncertain as to what to say for a few seconds, so uncertain that she held her breath. Then, she approached him, to hand him back the helicopter. "Yes," she exhaled. "Yes, she'll be back then. She said she would call you tonight. Adrien."

He took the helicopter and stared between it and his plane. "What?"

"Do you miss your mother when she leaves?" she asked.

"Yeah. She makes me laugh a lot. And she always tucks me in a night. And she talks to me all the time, when she's here." He stroked the helicopter blades with his index finger. "I wish she didn't have to leave all the time. But it's work."

"Right," whispered Nathalie.

"Father has to go places for work too. I went to one of his fashion shows once. There were so many cameras."

"Yes, a lot. Adrien, do you know what your mother does when she goes away for work?" Nathalie sat down on the bed beside him, and he glanced at her curiously.

"No, you don't either?" His eyes were big.

"Well." She looked out of the window, and saw that the snowfall had stopped. "She's never told me."

"Mom has secrets."

Nathalie's head turned quickly back to him. Adrien looked chillingly thoughtful for a child of his age. He reminded her of his father, with that stern, cool gleam to his eyes and the thin line of his lips as he seemed to be staring into something that existed either too close or too far away to be assessed with the naked eye. In fact, he was nearly the spitting image of Gabriel the first time Nathalie asked where Mrs. Agreste disappears to so suddenly. She had to wonder if he even knew. He never queried her about it, at least not in front of Nathalie. She couldn't help but notice the space between them. Even when they were just inches apart, or none at all, there was an incredible dissonance that seemed to set their minds on different planets. And neither acknowledged it, not even vaguely, and it made Nathalie wonder whether she was mad, but Adrien, she was realizing, must have noticed it too. She murmured cautiously, "You think so, Adrien?"

"I mean, I don't know. She hasn't told me she has secrets. But Chloe has a lot of secrets. And she tells me all of them. But before she tells me, she has this look on her face, like -" He made an expression that Nathalie could not identify. "Mom makes that face. But she never tells me anything."

"You're quite observant," she told him. "I haven't noticed a face." _I've noticed other things_.

He shrugged his shoulders, and like a blanket falling from his shoulders, his melancholy was shed and his cheer returned. "Maybe it's a girl thing. What do you want to do now? Do you want to race again? Or maybe we can watch a movie? Or build a fort! I love building forts when it's cold outside."

They ended up doing all three, and by the time Adrien had declared the pillow fort complete, the shy winter sun was beginning to set. Nathalie had never spent so much time with her boss's son, and she had certainly not expected to actually enjoy as much as she did; well, as much as she could possibly enjoy so many hours with an energetic, if remarkably well-behaved seven-year-old.

Nathalie was watching him draw a flag for their fort when there came a knock at the door, and Mr. Agreste appeared in the frame. He seemed surprised at the scene he entered on: a pillow fort made up of at least five blankets and a dozen pillows taken from other rooms, while his son furiously scribbled on a piece of paper at his desk and Nathalie donned a haphazardly colored paper crown from a previous playdate with Chloe. She removed it as soon as she saw him, feeling suddenly very foolish, her cheeks heating up.

"Sir," she said, getting to her feet and dropping the crown on the desk. "Good afternoon."

He surveyed the room for a couple more seconds, then nodded his head at her. "Nathalie. I wasn't expecting you to be up here."

"Chloe's sick. She couldn't come."

"Hi, Father!" Adrien greeted, not looking up from his drawing. "We made a fort!"

"I see," Gabriel replied gruffly. "Make sure you put all those pillows back where you found them when you're finished."

"Yes, Father."

Gabriel looked back to his assistant. "Nathalie, did you reach out to the venue owner for next Fall's showcase like I asked?"

And her face flushed even warmer. No, no she hadn't. That was the email she was supposed to have been writing when Emilie walked in on her. It was the snow that distracted her, the damn snow. She looked around the room, saw it had gone dim as the evening approached, saw the mess they had made with the blankets and pillows, the TV still turned on, paused on the credits of the movie they had watched. What the hell was she doing?

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir. I was writing the email. Mrs. Agreste, she came in and asked me to…" she gestured to Adrien beside her, who dropped his green marker for a black one.

"Right. It looks like you've had fun."

This was embarrassing. She was twenty-six years old, and here she was playing with a child. Her boss's child no less.

The snow caught the dark yellow light of the setting sun outside. Somewhere in the past, a young Nathalie was falling asleep with her head resting on the window sill. When she woke, there might be nothing left but mud and dwindling ice.

"Can I talk to you, Nathalie?" Gabriel asked her. "Adrien, tell Nathalie thank you for spending time with you."

"Thank you, Nathalie," Adrien said, making a wide toothy grin at her. "I'll show you my flag when I'm done with it, okay?"

"Okay, Adrien," she whispered.

He held up his hand, and it took her just a second too long to realize he was waiting for a high-five, which she gave him, terribly aware of Gabriel's steel-blue eyes on her.

Out in the hallway, she turned to Gabriel, unable to look into his face. "Yes, sir?"

"Since Emilie has gone on another one of her trips, I'm going to need you to adjust the schedule for the next few days accordingly. I'm sorry she left you with such short notice this time," he said, though he didn't sound particularly sorry, or really that concerned at all. "I'll ask her to be more mindful of that in the future."

_In the future_. Nathalie nodded her head. "Of course, sir."

"And send that email to the venue owner before you leave tonight. Unfortunately, I'd told him to expect a message by three this afternoon, but clearly something else had come up for you." She worked up the courage to look at his face and saw one eyebrow raised at her, and a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "I hope he wasn't too much trouble."

"No," she breathed. "You and Emilie have a lovely son."

"Yes," Gabriel agreed. "We do."

He had started to turn away from her, to head down the stairs, but Nathalie called out. "Sir." and he looked back over his shoulder.

"Yes, Nathalie?"

A thousand things came to her at once, pelting her like ice cold raindrops. _What is your wife doing?_ she wanted to ask him. _Where does she go? How much does she tell you? She never talks about it. I feel like I don't know her. I feel like _you_ don't know her._

_Your son wishes she would stay with him._

_He needs her._

None of it left her mouth, and she knew that was for the best. Nathalie shook her head, her red hair, a lot of which had come loose while she was with Adrien, waving in her peripherals like fire in wind. "Nothing. Never mind."

He gazed at her pensively. He looked like Adrien. "Very well."

She followed him to the office, sat at her desk with her back to the window and worked silently. Her eyes flicked across the room every now and then, to look at him. At one moment, they met eyes, waited, stared, both with a face on their mind, a name on their lips. For a moment, everything was motionless and quiet and dark, and just briefly, Nathalie wondered if she saw a shadow pass over his face, as fast and as faint as though it belonged to a feather in the wind.

They looked away.

* * *

Blackness. Head-splitting pain. Suffocation. She was trapped under water. She was drowning. She was kicking her legs, trying to reach the surface. The surface was not made of water, but iron. She couldn't pass through it. She was trapped.

She was completely still. Was she even breathing? She couldn't breathe or she would drown. She could suffocate or drown. The choice was hers.

She wanted to breathe.

She wanted to fucking breathe.

She could hear a high-pitched hum. Coming from above the water. Coming from above the ground. What was that? Where was she?

She remembered. She was on a plane.

She wasn't under water.

She wasn't drowning.

She was incredibly aware of her lips pulling apart to take in the air. It made it half-way down her throat.

There was fire in her lungs. Not water.

She was coughing up fire. Like a creature from hell. Wasn't she in hell? No, she was on an airplane. She remembered.

Someone was talking to her. She could hear their voice. They were close to her ear, maybe right next to her ear, maybe holding her shoulder right now. Was that a hand? It felt like metal. Their voice sounded like metal too. Those must have been words. When people talk, they use words, not metal. Who was it? Maybe she should open her eyes.

Open your eyes.

Open your fucking eyes.

You're not under water.

You're not underground.

You're in the air. You're flying home. And he's waiting for you. Unless he fucked up. And it's over. And this is how it ends. You won't know until you open your eyes and see for yourself.

She did.

Everything went white. Like the snow.

* * *

**I stood in the mirror for like two minutes trying to decide how tall the average seven year old would be even though his height was completely irrelevant. I don't even remember how children look let alone how they behave so I hope Adrien was acting like a proper fetus Adrien.**

**From here on our it gets intense. See you on Sunday!**

**~ Lullaby**


	9. Chapter Nine

**Whoops I updated a day early. **

**Let this be your warning, that the next few chapters are emotionally intense.**

Chapter Nine

Gabriel couldn't fucking think.

Surely, this was what it must feel like to watch the world fall apart: everything hanging over the edge of canyons ripping their way across the planet, splitting the earth into jagged, unsalvageable pieces as if it was a glass sphere shattering in slow motion; all that he cared about threatening to snap from the weak little threads tying it to him and fall into the void of space. He had the option to follow it or remain in the wreckage, completely and utterly alone, like he had always deserved to be. _What will it be, Gabriel_, he asked himself, _Does it take you with it as if you've earned the right to evade the agony, or do you live to suffer through it?_

The worst part was that he couldn't do anything about it, not yet. Not while fate was being tossed between the two hands of his enemy, who had over twenty-four hours before it came to rest, not while the only thing he had left to hold was still too far from his grasp. _They are coming_, he would say to himself, while he stared out the window into the setting sun, glaring like an eye filled with fire and condemnation. _They are coming_. He would have them, at least. But they weren't here yet, and that tore him to pieces.

Nooroo was far quieter than he had ever been. Not once in the day that had passed did the kwami speak to Gabriel, even make a little noise, even look at him directly, but he did keep himself visible. Perhaps he was purposeful, choosing to hang, not over or behind his master's shoulder, but in front of him, a perpetual lavender blot on the world with his wings and eyelids both drooping like petals under heavy rain, so as to remind Gabriel rather needlessly of his crisis, of his misuse of power, of his incredible desperation despite himself. Gabriel glared at Nooroo. How it had never occurred to him that his kwami could always know exactly what he was feeling if he chose to pay attention? Gabriel's heart was a book closed to everyone but himself, but what did that matter to Nooroo, who could see through the cover, read all the pages without even having to move it? Yet, Gabriel stood powerless and blind, as capable of knowing Nooroo's own thoughts as he was of knowing a rock's. What a cruel reality, to be called master at every address, seal Nooroo's lips with a command, and know absolutely _nothing_ about him, while he in turn knew _everything_ about _everyone_ as long as he cared enough to check. What absurdity! to have all that power and treat it like a reference book collecting dust on a shelf. Did Nooroo have any idea that some would kill, that some would die to have that power at their fingertips? And now, in an outrageous display of nerve, he dared to glower at Gabriel and reprehend his desperate action, as if he had any other choice! As if he was not suffering enough!

Gabriel turned his back on the window and shut his eyes against Nooroo and the sun, a hand resting against his brow. _They are coming_, he told himself, then exclaimed aloud, "But what consolation is that?", for he didn't know how he could possibly face them like this, while everything meandered through a bleak and volatile limbo. For all the hope he had there was ten times the fear. At any moment the world could burst apart upon learning the name of the man who had spent almost two years terrorizing them in favor of reviving his comatose wife. Ladybug had made good on their deal for hours now, but at any moment, for any reason her mind could change and destroy everything. _They are coming_, he said, but was that what they were coming to? The outbreak of news of his failure? The end of his story? Gabriel could not even imagine what that would look like, not through their eyes, especially not through Adrien's. _They are coming_, he said, but they were coming because something was wrong, terribly _wrong_. It made his stomach swim and his heart beat out of his chest and Emilie's words rip through his skin like he was standing on one of those planets where it rains glass: "Promise you'll bring me back."

He was so close to that. So close to hearing that voice again, being reminded of its sweet and musical sound. So close to the weight of his vow being lifted away forever. But he was just as close to losing everything else he had. _They are coming_. They were coming only so they might leave again.

But he wanted them there for as long as they could be.

Adrien called him when they landed, and he almost didn't pick up for fear of what he would hear, but he answered, and he stood in front of Emilie's portrait as he did, his face close to the paint, trying to avoid seeing Nooroo nearby.

"Father?"

"Son," he breathed. "How's Nathalie?"

"Not well." He paused. "Better, actually, than she was when we left. But still not well. Maybe we should go to a hospital?"

Gabriel heard a protest, and his heart leaped at the sound of Nathalie's voice. "Please, Adrien, bring her here first," he urged.

"Are you sure?" Adrien's voice was shaking with fear. "Father, she really isn't okay."

Another objection on the other end. Gabriel's grip tightened. He wished he could pull them through the phone. "Is she walking?"

"Yes, but -"

"Bring her here. Please."

"Father!"

"Do as I say," he snapped. "I need to see you. I need to see you now. If she really is so unwell, I'll take her myself." The truth was that in the past, professional medical help had failed to help her to any degree. "But come home first."

There was a stunned silence, probably at the agonized strain in Gabriel's voice, a strain Adrien was so unused to hearing. As Gabriel looked into Emilie's eyes, he could see his son's face, the way it had gone slack, his mouth dropping open, his gaze shiny and wide with shock. Finally, he stammered, "Ye - Yes, Father, o-of course."

When they had disconnected, Gabriel set his eyes on Nooroo, who raised his own stare to his master's intense countenance, and for the first time since their last transformation, spoke.

"He believes you, master," he whispered.

* * *

Gabriel was at the door when they finally arrived, after what felt like eons. Adrien rushed inside and closed his father in a hug, an action that left Gabriel frozen in surprise at first, but soon he returned the embrace. _They are here_, he thought, and while there was a fair bit of relief to that, there was also a dense weight in his chest, as if his heart had become metal, his blood made of rust. After several seconds, Gabriel took Adrien by the shoulders and leaned down to look him right in the face; he didn't have to lean far. His son was taller than he realized. How much time had really passed since this all began, he wondered? Two years? Ten? He couldn't tell the difference.

"Adrien," he murmured, "Everything is fine."

The boy flinched.

"Please," he went on. "Go to your room. Get your mind off everything. I'll come talk to you tonight."

"But -"

"Don't argue. Just go."

Adrien, temperamental as his mother was, appeared like he was about to protest, but instead, he nodded brusquely and took his suitcase from his bodyguard. Even he, whose face was perpetually stern and severe, had a look of grave concern. Beside him, staring at Gabriel, was Nathalie. She was on her feet, seemingly steady, but she looked sicker than he had ever seen her, and what broke his heart about it is that she wore this smile, this bright and poignant smile that must have been taking everything to hold up. Gabriel took her suitcase from the bodyguard and dismissed him. He went, though reluctantly, casting a glance back at the ill woman before closing the front door.

Then Adrien's bedroom door shut upstairs, and Nathalie sighed. "Gabriel, what-"

She sucked in her breath. Gabriel had abandoned her suitcase and pulled her into his chest. He held her like letting her go would kill him, like she was an anchor in a raging sea. He never wanted to let her go. He never wanted to let her out of his sight. "Nathalie, I…" he whispered into her hair, "I didn't think I would ever see you again. I don't know why. I just -" His throat closed. He shook his head.

"Oh, Gabriel, what did you do?" she asked him, her breath against his ear. Her arms were around him, and he could tell she was raised on her toes. "What did you do? Something foolish?"

"Of course," he said.

"Are you doomed?"

He held her tighter, closed his eyes. "Maybe."

Horror surged through his blood as she suddenly shuddered in his arms and gave out. Her head rocked against his shoulder, her knees buckled and Gabriel came down to the floor with her, not letting go. He could feel her trying to move; her head lifted a centimeter before falling again, her fingers twitched, her legs trembled as she attempted to get herself back on her feet. Gabriel slipped one arm under her shoulders and the other beneath her knees, and he lifted her back up. He left the suitcase in the foyer and, despite her futile insistence that she could walk, brought her to a spare bedroom, the one she had slept in on nights when she was too weak and exhausted to drive home, nights that had become too frequent in recent months, nights that had begun to add up until they had landed her back in these covers, her head propped up against the pillow, her lips forming a smile that he hated because _what the hell_ was she smiling for? Didn't she know what was happening to her? And then that glimmer of sadness appeared in her eyes and he knew. She did. She may have known better than him even though he had been the one to see it unfold once before. Nathalie looked sorry, as if she had anything to apologize for. Whatever it was, she never said, but it lingered there, and the haunting thing about it is that it may have been there for years, long before he had even touched the brooch that wounded her, because it looked so familiar, a feature as recognizable as one's eyes.

"You're not leaving this room," he commanded, standing over her. "I know you've made a hobby of disobeying me, but for your sake and mine, stay put."

"I don't think you'll have to worry," she replied quietly.

She was white as bone. She barely moved her head as she talked. Gabriel sat down on the bed, which seemed to surprise her, and he decided that all he wanted was to keep surprising her, because her eyes always widened, glowing like sunlight upon water, warm and cool all at once and teeming with life, even if just for a moment. He felt it in his miraculous, as though his brooch had twisted into his chest like a drill. His hand went to caress it.

"Nooroo," he said, and the kwami appeared as he was addressed. "Leave us."

"W-what?" Nooroo asked.

"Leave us. Go. I want to be alone with Nathalie."

"Master."

"Gabriel…" breathed Nathalie.

"Go, Nooroo."

The butterfly kwami closed his mouth and started to float gingerly away from them. With a little gasp, he passed through the threshold which usually prevented him from traveling more than a couple meters from Gabriel's side. His astonishment halted him for several seconds; he took a disbelieving glimpse back at the two on the bed, and then he left. He even shut the door.

Nathalie gazed after him. "I cannot believe you did that."

"He's done enough, and I wanted...I wanted to be alone with you. I have so much to say I don't even know where to begin. I…" He brushed back his hair, taking a deep breath. "I didn't think I would ever see you again," he said once more. "I was so afraid. Even after everything I did, I just couldn't get the thought out of my head, that you'd told me goodbye." He wanted to say more, but the words wouldn't come. All he could do was grab her hand, watch her eyes go round again, feel the cold of her skin sink into the warmth of his, hope to fix it.

Nathalie looked fragile, young and old at the same time. She squeezed his hand, and just by doing that, she shook. "I feared the same," she admitted. "I said goodbye...I said goodbye because I didn't know if I'd have the chance to. With the way you were speaking about what you had planned, I was so sure that only the worst could come of it."

Gabriel ran his thumb along the back of her hand, tracing the veins under her dull white skin. "Nathalie, what happened?"

She was perplexed. "What happened? Well, what was always going to happen, right?"

"How did it come? Gradually, suddenly?"

"Oh, Gabriel." Nathalie closed her eyes and sighed deeply. "None of this is sudden. I've felt this way for a long time. I was always strong enough to hide it. Now I'm not. Adrien, oh…" She turned her head and gazed towards the window. "He was so worried the entire time. He knew something was wrong. He's suspected for a long time, I'm sure. He tried so hard to make me feel better. He got me these flowers."

"Flowers?"

"Yeah," she said, her voice filled with wonder. "I left them there, in Geneva. I wish I had them. They were so….I'm glad you weren't there. I had been such a wreck. You would think I'd never seen flowers in my life. Did you know I've never been given flowers?" She sounded distant, like she was speaking out of a dream. Then she blinked and glanced back at him. "You know, your son and I have a lot in common."

"Do you?"

"Yes. If you only knew."

"Tell me."

"I cannot." Her hand fell away from his. He reached for it again, but she ran it down her face and winced. "This morning," she went on, and she struggled to keep her voice level; she sounded in pain, "He knew I wasn't happy. There are so many reasons for it, I simply couldn't give them all, but I know he is not happy either, Gabriel. You will have to console him. I am certain it would mean so much. Anyway, I could tell he noticed the way I appeared. The way I moved, so slow and unenergized. He came to me later, and I had gone to rest in bed because I could barely stand, but he was calling my name and something was wrong, so I went to him. He was so distressed. I tried to calm him, but then…" She removed her hand from her face and looked at him. "Well, now I am this way."

"Nathalie -"

"Enough about me. That story's a predictable one. What I need to know, Gabriel, is what you've done." She tried to sit up, and only managed to prop herself up on her elbows. "Hawkmoth spotted at one in the morning last night? Ladybug in pursuit? You're still here, and we didn't land in Paris to be greeted by news of your defeat or your civilian identity. Should I take that as a good sign?"

"Well, you did come early," he replied. "I don't know. At this point, my fate is in someone else's hands."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Someone else? You don't mean Ladybug?" He nodded gravely, and she tried to raise herself higher, alarm blazing through her sky-colored eyes. "_What?_ Does she know who you are?"

He nodded again. "Yes. I'm afraid she does."

For a minute, she didn't look so sick, because a powerful rush of terror and outrage possessed her body like a foreign spirit. Her hand fell on his chest. "Was this your plan?" she demanded. Her voice was quiet, but the emotion burst through every syllable. He felt it all through his miraculous, which her middle finger caressed like she meant to claw it off his shirt. "Was this is what you refused to tell me about?"

"No, Nathalie. She wasn't supposed to find out."

Her glare was wild. "What did you do? What did you do, Gabriel?"

"Lay down," he told her, taking her hand from his chest. He eased her back onto the pillow, and once she was down again, her look of weakness had returned, but her gaze remained fixed and intense, blue fires burning holes through a deathly pale face. Gabriel took his eyes away, finding it hard to look at her. He stared into space and said, "I have the miraculous box."

"What?"

"I have every miraculous in Paris. Every miraculous but Ladybug and Chat Noir's. I found the guardian. _Nooroo_ found the guardian. We went last night to retrieve the miracle box." Gabriel told Nathalie the whole story, and she listened with her eyes open wide and her hands pressed against her mouth. He told her the old man, unbeknownst to them, had relinquished his duties to Marinette Dupain-Cheng - Ladybug - made her the guardian, gave her the box; told her that he'd tried to take it without disturbing the girl, that her kwami had woken to him and alerted her holder, and that Ladybug followed him, that he thought he had lost her when he hadn't, and how she had found him, discovered who he was, nearly went to tell the world, and in a desperate attempt to keep everything from falling apart so quickly, he brought her to Emilie. He showed her everything.

"She knows what I'm doing this for," Gabriel murmured.

"And she hasn't told everyone?" cried Nathalie.

"No one has come knocking on my door quite yet." He stood from the bed and began to pace the room, sweeping his eyes across the barren walls and plain modern furniture. He could hear the thump of his own heart beat and wondered if Nathalie could hear it too from where she laid watching him. When he had come to the window, he glanced at her, decided he didn't want to take a step further away than this. He started pacing back.

"I don't understand," she was saying. "Why hasn't she told anyone yet? What happened?"

"Well, she has a soft spot." He rolled his eyes. "It seems that a teenage superhero is just as much teenager as she is superhero. Adrien, Nathalie, _Adrien_ gives her pause."

"They are very close," Nathalie replied, looking down at her hands.

"Judging by her reaction, she doesn't want to be the one to take his mother away from him for good. Emilie's fate is in her hands now," said Gabriel gravely. A full-length mirror leaned against the wall on one side of the dresser. From where he was standing, he could see both himself and Nathalie in the glass, two people who at one point felt they had all the power in the world, and now had none. Nathalie's eyes flicked to the mirror and caught the somber gaze reflecting back at her. At his distance, and in the falling light, he saw a fiery spark leap at him through the glass; that violent fusion of anger and panic flared up again. Gabriel's hand went for his miraculous. For months now it had been like this; once, she had projected a steady movement of feeling, a quiet ebb and flow she managed to hide so well, but now, she was jarred by these powerful surges of emotion. That desperation he sensed like needles pressing into his fingertips was now so common, but as long as it was her face staring back at him, it would never feel ordinary.

"So, what then? What will change? What will she do? This has to end somehow. It simply _can't_ go on like this." She tried to shout, but she was not even strong enough for that. Gabriel flinched, remembering some of Mayura's final words, her hysterical surrender. Nathalie had been so afraid for this all to be over, but she must have wanted it, she must have been waiting.

"We made an agreement," Gabriel said. He returned to the bed and sat on the opposite side. He needed to be near but he feared getting too close. "She has until sunset tomorrow to make a decision. Either she turns me in, or she gives up her miraculous. One way or another this comes to an end."

"But you have the box," Nathalie reminded him. "We know there is a time miraculous! You can use it to -"

"If I can use the rabbit miraculous, then so can Ladybug. So can anyone. We saw how much things can change when you mess with power like that. Using Ladybug and Chat Noir's miraculous is the only way to ensure that my wish is permanent, and that I change _one thing_, that I don't make the world fall apart at the seams of time and space." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Also, I'm just...so tired. I want Emilie back. I want it more than anything. But believe it or not - and I don't know if I even believe it myself - a part of me might feel just slightly relieved that this isn't in my corner anymore. I've carried that weight for so long, this fucking promise. Do you think she'd understand, Nathalie? Do you think she'd understand that I've done everything I can?"

She was eerily silent, and when Gabriel looked up, he saw her staring with this profoundly strange look on her face, something that bordered on deep contemplation and horror, like she had just recognized a ghost inside herself. He suddenly felt cold, which through his miraculous, tended to register as shock, but he wondered if some of the feeling was his own reaction to her uncanny disposition.

"Nathalie…" he prompted gently.

She blinked, but the look on her face didn't change. Her head turned away, she stared up at the ceiling and said nothing.

"Nathalie, what's the matter? Did I say something?"

"Do you want to know what I did four months ago?" she asked, her voice hardly more than a whisper. Once again, the cold glided across his bones, and Gabriel couldn't keep himself from shivering against it. He leaned toward her, but the bed was wide and he couldn't reach her hand.

"When you took the peacock miraculous," he murmured. "Yes, Nathalie. I want to know."

She tried to raise herself back onto her elbows, but then her head fell against the pillow and she chose to remain there. Across her countenance, a look of pain bloomed which was only a shadow to that peculiar fire in her eyes. "Something…something came over me," she whispered, "And I was terrified. I knew there had to be a way I could get those miraculous. We had tried so many times before, but I was so desperate. I cannot say why." There was darkness in her voice; Gabriel could almost imagine her breathing shadows into the air like plumes of black smoke. "It led me to Ladybug. She found me, that night, while I was possessed by some foolishness, and I didn't want to fight her. I was so, so tired of fighting. I told her there were things of which she was ignorant, things that, if realized, could complicate our war, tear both sides apart. I told her it would be best to peaceably give in. If I had her miraculous - both of their miraculous - this could all be over. And no one would have to hurt for it. She wanted to know more. She's no idiot, as we are well-aware, but I did not do what you did, Gabriel. I did not tell her the truth. I felt it would have been best if nobody knew."

"What truth?" Gabriel asked her. "What are you talking about? Emilie?"

"Emilie, yes, I did not tell her about Emilie. I could not compromise our identities."

"But what else? There is more. I can tell," he insisted.

"I cannot say."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why not?"

"I promised."

"Promised who?"

"You," she answered, and her head turned back to him quickly. Her dark hair was slick with sweat and a few strands of it fell like ropes over her eyes. "I promised you, when all of this began, that I would do everything in my power to hold this place together. You told me yourself you would not be able to do it on your own. For two years, I have done my best to make everything seem okay, as okay as is possible with how fucked up it truly is. And if I tell you what happened, what I saw, then that will not be possible."

Stunned, Gabriel didn't reply, though he tried. Every response which came to him came in a tangle of words that said nothing. He felt like a towel had been stuffed down his throat.

Nathalie went on, and her voice got weaker the more she spoke. "I was trying to protect this family. I was trying to make her understand. She wouldn't budge, the integrity of that creature, I would have thought it had no limits, but of course, it would figure it was Marinette all this time. It _would_ figure _Adrien_ would be her weakness." She gave a small laugh, but it sounded more like a series of feeble coughs. "We ended up fighting. I could have killed the girl I was so mad, but I started to grow weak and I had to retreat. For these four months, I have been haunted by the thought...had I succeeded that night, there would have been no need for this. There would have been no risk to you or your identity, no leaving your future in the hands of your enemy. Emilie, she would be here. And you would be happy. And I -"

"You were going to make the wish?" Gabriel interrupted, standing from the bed. "That's what you were planning to do? Make this wish for me?"

She gazed blankly at him. "Of course."

"Nathalie, that - that is not your wish to make," he growled.

"I didn't want you to know," she replied, and she sounded so broken and small that he immediately regretted his dangerous tone. "It wouldn't have helped you to know. The best way for this all to end is quietly. And then everything would have been fixed. Without more fighting. Without more pain. I wanted that so badly. For you, for Adrien, for myself."

He had made his way back to her side of the bed and sat down beside her, uncertain of what to say. Nathalie had thought much earlier than him that the end of this story was coming, and just like he did, she had tried to close to book herself. _What game are you and Mayura playing at?_ Ladybug has asked him. _What's wrong with you?_ He gazed down at Nathalie. _Lord, so many things_, he thought.

Nathalie clasped his forearm. "Can I show you something?" He nodded, and she reached into the sleeve of her robe. She pulled out a handkerchief - actually, he noticed, it was one of those pieces of cloth meant to be used to clean glasses, the color of a robin's egg. Gabriel flinched when he saw that it was stained with droplets of deep crimson, some merely tiny flecks of color, others larger blots the size of his thumb print. They both gazed. They book shivered.

"Why would you -" He felt sick. He looked away. "Shit. _No_."

"I'm glad you and Ladybug made that agreement, because you don't have that much time left." To hear her say it out loud, while she looked as she looked, felt as she felt, he became riddled with fear and guilt and this overwhelming urge to scream. She reached up and touched his face, turned it back to look at her. She had hidden the cloth again. Her fingertips brushed against his ear, made him shudder. "Don't be upset, Gabriel. Soon, this will all be over, and if that girl comes to her senses, you can begin again. Everything will be okay."

"And what of you?" he asked softly. He grabbed the hand on his face and pressed it firmly against his cheek. Her touch was ice.

Of course, he knew the answer before she said it. He'd known for months, he just never let himself believe it. He vehemently hoped he had been wrong. She said, "I will no longer be in pain. I will be gone."

He dropped her hand, let it slide down his stubble and land limp on her chest. His heart pounded madly, it felt to have leaped up into his throat.

She cocked her head at him. "You knew this would happen, didn't you? That this was the only way?" She reached for him again, but her hand fell short and grabbed at empty air. "I'll be the price for Emilie. I must be. It will end my suffering. It will end yours."

"No…" he whispered, shaking his head down at her, voice nearly stolen away, breath barely revealing the words. "No, that's not true. You can't go. You can't be the one."

"Gabriel, it's what I want."

No. It couldn't be. It couldn't be what she wanted. How could she want this? To fade away, to go silent and still, leave his side forever? How could she want to die and leave behind everything she had helped him to build? Why would she give up everything for his sake?

_Fuck. No_. She already had.

Gabriel trembled. She sacrificed it all when she put on that brooch for the first time, because she wanted to save him, because she wanted to see him through to the end, whenever that end came to pass, and it was coming now. It was coming so fast and he was powerless to stop it. Why hadn't he seen this sooner? Every chance she had to help him at the expense of herself, she took, until there was nothing left of her.

Beside him, she lurched and released a groan of pain. Gabriel seized her hands and held them between his own. She wasn't strong enough to sit up, but she had lifted her head off the pillow and bent her knees slightly as a wave of sickness made her body brace itself. It passed after about a minute, and as she fell back, panting, she pulled his hands close to her chest. He watched tears gather in her eyes before they spilled out of the corners and ran down her temples. She tried to smile. She tried to smile, and then she failed, and then all that was left there was despair.

"Nathalie," he said.

"I love you," she whispered suddenly, and as she said it, Gabriel watched her heart break through her eyes. He saw within them, pain that his miraculous could never communicate, not even as it tried, sending continuous stabs of agony into his heart, ripping it apart beat by beat. No, all of that fell away from him. All he could see were her eyes, how much she loved him, how much she wished more than anything that she didn't, how she wished just a little bit less that he would say it back to her, how she knew he wouldn't. Gabriel saw everything in the azure pools of her irises. She freed one of her hands, which came up to her mouth, taming the sounds of her sobs. "I'm so sorry," she cried miserably from behind her quivering fingers. "I'm so sorry, Gabriel."

He held her other hand, running his thumb down the back of it, hoping to soothe some of that terrible anguish. He knew he couldn't. It was deeper than anything he could mend by himself.

She closed her eyes, worsted by the pain, and then Gabriel couldn't tell if it was for the state of her body or the agony in her heart. Another convulsion gripped her. She jerked forward and cried out. Gabriel turned away from the sound, losing sight of her, gazing into the spinning room, horrified that Adrien would hear. But he held on to her. He watched the door, and even as her fingernails pierced his palm, he didn't let go.

_What did I do?_ He asked himself, unable to say the words aloud, unable to move his lips to form the shape of them. _What did I do to deserve you? And what did you do to deserve this?_

She gasped like she had just come up from underwater. He looked back at her, saw her eyes stretched wide open again, gazing through him, and then they flickered, seeing him, reaching for him.

Emilie was never like this, he realized. Emilie didn't fall this far. They put her to sleep to protect her from this. They knew it would come and they couldn't stand the thought of it. He remembered Emilie laying in the capsule, making him promise to do anything if it meant bringing her back; he remembered how desperate he had always been to see that promise fulfilled, his love for her which felt so deep and powerful that it just didn't make sense it wasn't helping him bring her back. It was only giving him the courage to fail again and again and again. _My love_, he thought,_ if you knew what it was going to take, would you have asked?_ He remembered that she did know, because she told him. _But surely this isn't what you had in mind_.

Gabriel moved closer to Nathalie and leaned her over his shoulder. She draped her arms down his back, and they hung there loosely. She didn't have the strength to hug him now.

"Please," she murmured, and her voice was hoarse, "Gabriel, just go."

"I'm not going anywhere, my dear."

"I want to be left alone."

"I can't leave you like this."

"Damn it, please, don't make me beg." He heard the tears in her voice. "I can't bear it. I kept this up for so long, I can't do it anymore. Go."

He held her for a moment longer before reluctantly easing her down onto her back. Immediately, she turned her head away from him and closed her eyes. She spoke not a word more. Gabriel stood from the bed and walked gingerly to the door. He cast a long, hesitant glance at Nathalie motionless form in the center of the room, before leaving her to rest. He prayed she would wake again. He prayed this conversation wasn't their last.

Nooroo was waiting for him in the hallway, his head low, his wings flapping softly. "You know, master?" he asked, "That she loves you?"

He leaned against the door, releasing a long, weighty sigh. "I think...I think I've known for a long time," he said.

"Then you know, master, that you love her?" Nooroo's voice was shy and quiet like the rustle of curtains in the wind, but there was no doubt to be detected in his words.

Forcing his eyes away from the kwami, Gabriel placed his hand over his miraculous to feel the rapid beating of his heart.

* * *

**I am so, so sorry. **

**~ Lullaby**


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

Adrien refreshed the page again and again. He closed all of his apps and then went back and refreshed, and nothing had changed. He paced under his bedroom windows, face growing hot under the late afternoon sunlight pouring through the glass. He watched specks of dust hover suspended in the stifling air. His miraculous caught the furious shine and glared at him. Adrien turned his back to cast a long shadow over his phone screen, just to see, even more clearly, that the LadyBlog post had remained completely unaltered since that morning.

"You're obsessing over that thing," Plagg remarked. He spoke from the shelf which hid all of his Camenbert. He'd been nearly two days without his favorite cheese. "Look, if there's been no update, then what's the worry? "

"The worry," Adrien growled, and Plagg's eyes flicked to him with a spark of surprise at his holder's severe tone, "is that no one has heard from Ladybug. The worry is something might have happened to her and we have absolutely no clue." He refreshed the page once more, and was again disappointed to find it exactly the same. He couldn't bear this. He couldn't bear not knowing. What was this quirk of misfortune that made everything fall apart at once? Was life a house of cards which toppled at the weakness of a single piece?

"If something was going to go wrong, it would have gone wrong by now, right?" Plagg asked him, his voice unusually quiet, sounding, at this point, quite doubtful of himself.

"If every was _okay_, we would _know_ by now," rebutted Adrien.

"Listen, I understand," said Plagg earnestly. "But you're gonna drive yourself mad. Put the phone down. Take a deep breath. Have a slice of Camenbert. You haven't eaten since breakfast."

"I'm not hungry." Adrien dropped the phone on his couch, and then himself, dragging his hands down his face. "I just...I have to know. I have to know she's okay. I have to know Hawkmoth didn't do something to her. I have to know because she's my partner. I have to know because -" The words caught in his throat. _Because Nathalie_ isn't _okay. Nathalie's sick_. _Nathalie's so sick._

"Okay, let's calm down. You know, kid, you could just transform and call her with your baton-phone-thing. Won't that help?"

"That'll only help if she's transformed right now. Transformed and safe. If she's not? If she can't answer? Plagg, I'd lose it." Adrien removed his hands from his face and stared at the ceiling. Just a few hours ago, he was in Switzerland, sitting at the edge of a deep blue lake. For days, he refused to believe that everything was fine. He would give anything now to have been wrong. Adrien imagined himself on Noella's boat, laughing with her at the absurdities of his daily life; he imagined himself sitting on the back porch as the sun inched towards the horizon, Plagg on his lap munching on a chunk of cheese that wasn't Camenbert, but still suitable; he imagined himself at the seat of the piano in the living room. His fingers hovered over the keys, unsure of what to play, because Adrien couldn't name a song right now. He couldn't think past the where. The rest of his mind was racing too quickly to make sense of something as familiar as piano.

"Hey, Adrien." He glanced up to see Plagg with a hand rested on his knee, his slanted green eyes wide with sincerity. "Listen, it's going to be fine."

He was grateful for the gesture, but the smile that appeared on his face felt hollow. "You know, Plagg, the last time I felt this hopeless was when my mom disappeared."

The kwami said nothing, his fist-sized body going stiff. His mouth dropped open, but this may have been the only time Adrien had witnessed Plagg truly speechless.

He sat up and tilted his head against the back of the sofa, a weary sigh escaping his lips. "Mom always used to tell me, when I was scared that there was nothing to worry about. So did Father, though he did it differently. She always laughed and smiled and waved it off, and he, well, he really just said it. Like it was plain. I wondered if I was being crazy, and then I woke up one day and she was gone, and Father didn't know where she was. Nobody knew where she was. It was terrifying and it didn't make sense. She used to go on trips all the time, but she always told us. This time, she didn't _say anything_. She just went. She went and she never came back." Adrien sensed the coming of tears, but he didn't try to fight them. "Mom seemed sick. She had headaches a lot and got dizzy, and she had this cough that never went away. I was always afraid it would get worse and worse, and I remember when she finally disappeared that it just didn't add up. She didn't get worse. She was just gone, and there was no reason for it. To this day, Plagg, I don't understand. I'll never understand. But there was this horrible feeling in my gut, that I'd worried so much yet I hadn't been able to do anything. She disappeared and then I still couldn't do anything. I didn't even know what to think." Adrien wiped the tear tracks on his face with his knuckles, and looked up at Plagg. "I feel helpless now, just like I was then. I just - I know something bad is going to happen. Something bad has already happened. And I don't know what to do. I just wish I could fix it. And I'm afraid that I can't."

Plagg, still wordless, could do nothing but approach Adrien slowly, like he was nearing a wounded animal, and pressed his face against his holder's cheek. Adrien held him gently and released a grave breath that quivered with the depth of his sadness. He whispered, "Thanks, Plagg."

It was then his kwami found the voice to speak. "You're a good kid, Adrien. I can't say I know what's happened, but I know you're strong enough to survive it." He drifted back an inch and placed a hand on the tip of Adrien's nose. "If you can survive having me around, you can survive anything. Most holders don't last a month."

He felt a smile, just a little one, bloom across his face. "Honestly, Plagg, I think you talk a rather big game. The only thing you've destroyed is my appetite for cheese."

"And the Eiffel Tower! Just because you were turned into a statue and couldn't see it doesn't mean it didn't happen!"

"Oh, right. I had to watch that on the news later on. Quite a feat."

"It's one of many famous cataclysms."

"Next the the dinosaurs, correct?"

"And Atlantis!"

"Of course."

He patted Plagg between the ears, and the little kwami closed his eyes and grinned broadly. Then, he rose up and ruffled a piece of hair at the front of Adrien's head in return. "My point is, Adrien - and believe it or not, I have those! - is one of your best friends is the kwami of destruction. I could sneeze and turn this house to dust. You've got nothing to fear. I promise."

Adrien looked down at his ring, then out his window, then back at his door. "I don't want to leave while Nathalie's so sick, but I won't be at peace until I know everything is okay. I believe you, Plagg. It's time to be brave and tackle the truth head on. You ready?"

Plagg shrugged. "Whenever you are, kid."

"Plagg, _claws out_!"

Chat Noir opened the window and leaped into the late summer heat, squinting his eyes against the brutal golden sunlight. A child called his name in excitement from the ground, and he gave a little wave before continuing on across the rooftops. He landed in the shade of a chimney and pulled out his cat-phone.

"Oh no," he whispered, seeing three messages left by Ladybug. "Well, figures."

He played the first, a short call left at 1:08 am. "You're not gonna believe this." She sounded enraged and he cupped his ear to listen closer. He could hear the sound of wind and of footsteps. "Hawkmoth - that _son_ of a _bitch_! - he's out and about, and he - I see him! Hurry, I'll need back-up." She disconnected.

Chat Noir stiffened. What the hell happened? Why did she sound so furious? Clearly this hadn't been any of Hawkmoth's typical treachery.

He listened to the next message, left just a minute later, foot tapping nervously on the rooftop. "Chat! Okay, I'm still following Hawkmoth! I could really use your help! He has the miracle box! He has everything! Hurry!" She grunted, and there was the sound of her phone fumbling, and then the message ended.

Chat wiped the sweat already building along his hairline. Hawkmoth had seized the miracle box. He remembered Alya's post, how witnesses had described that the super villain had been holding something while Ladybug was in pursuit. It was the box, and all fifteen miraculous kept inside. Chat Noir hadn't even considered it. The very notion that Hawkmoth could come so close to something that important had never occurred to him, not even with all those torturous hours of worrying. He clenched his fists in frustration. Hawkmoth had gotten ahold of one of the most dangerous items in the world and he hadn't been in the country to help stop him. He hadn't been there when his lady needed him. How was this possible? How was his luck this terrible?

The third message was vastly different from the other two. Ladybug was evidently standing still; he couldn't hear the sounds of wind of footsteps or her panting breath. There was only silence but for her words. "Chat, I...I don't know what to say. I wish you had been there. I wish...I don't know, maybe I don't. You wouldn't...you wouldn't believe what I…" Ladybug was quiet for several seconds. Her voice was tired and shock bled through every syllable. He'd never heard his partner so shaken, so unsure of herself. Finally, he heard her sigh, and she went on, "I'm sorry, kitty. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do. I'm almost relieved you didn't answer. Oh, and I'm okay. I'm not hurt, in case you were wondering. I'll...I'll see you soon. Maybe. I need some time. I need to think."

The message ended there. Chat Noir pulled his phone away from his ear and stared at the screen, looking to see if there were any other messages he missed. But that was everything. Her last call was made at 3:39 am.

He needed to find her. He needed to find out what happened. Hawkmoth had stolen the miracle box, but nothing had gone wrong in Paris yet, nothing that anybody knew of anyway. Ladybug would have mentioned it if she had managed to get it back. She wouldn't be so rattled, so far from the brave and unshakable lady he knew.

It was a long shot she was transformed now, but he decided he should leave her a message of his own. "Ladybug!" he exclaimed once the tone rang in his ear. "I'm here! I - I'm sorry I wasn't around last night - I'll have to explain later - but I'm here now! It's Thursday. Tonight at seven, we'd usually be patrolling. Hopefully I'll catch you where we usually meet. We'll have to talk." He paused and bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm sorry, m'lady. I sincerely hope I haven't let you down."

_I love you_, he almost said, but his breath caught. He pried the phone away from his ear and hung up.

* * *

Seven o'clock came two hours later, and seven-thirty a half hour after that, but Chat Noir waited at the Eiffel Tower with no sign of Ladybug to ease his nerves.

_She said she was okay_, he thought, twirling his baton anxiously.

The sky had darkened with soot-colored clouds over his head. They broke in the west, and the sunlight that remained set the open sky on a deep, radiant golden fire. He'd never seen anything quite like it. Tall buildings standing in the light faced him in deep black shadow, shining at their edges with the glow, like giants stepping out of heaven under the gloom of the world below. Chat Noir felt rather close to hell now. Even hearing Ladybug's voice hadn't been enough to drag him from his disquiet as long as he couldn't see her face, touch her and feel for himself that she was real and okay.

At seven thirty-two, he called her again, and to his surprise, she answered.

"Chat Noir?"

"Ladybug! I'm at the Eiffel Tower. Where are you?"

"I'm at…" There was a curious silence. "It's hard to explain."

"What happened, m'lady? What happened last night?"

"I don't know. I mean, I know, but I don't know if I believe it myself. I mean, I believe it. It's just -"

"Ladybug, does Hawkmoth still have the miracle box?"

She hesitated. "Yes."

Chat Noir inhaled sharply, pressing his lips together. "Okay. Okay. So what we need to do is get it back then, right?"

"I - I don't know."

"You don't know?"

He listened to her grunt as she made a leap. Her feet hit something metallic, a street light, perhaps. "Damn it, I don't know what I'm doing. I was about to go to Adrien Agreste's house -"

He reeled. "Adrien Agreste's house? Why?" Chat Noir paused, then added, "I heard that kid was out of town."

"Yeah, I know he was, but his private jet landed in Paris today, so I guess he's back. And I was going to talk to him. But ah! maybe I shouldn't. I don't know what I'm doing, Chat. I'm so lost."

Chat Noir was quiet for a few seconds while he contemplated what to say. It was so unusual for her to be this unsure of herself. And why would she need to talk to Adrien? What was he to her? He swallowed roughly and straightened his posture. "I know I was gone when you needed me, and I'm sorry for that, but it sounds like you still need me now. I'm here. Let's figure this out together."

"I don't know…"

"Come to the Eiffel Tower, bugaboo," he said softly. "Whatever's going on, we can handle it, I know we can."

He heard her take several long breaths, then she replied, "Okay. I'm sorry, I'm coming. Stay there."

She hung up, and Chat Noir sat down, looking out unto the cityscape to watch her arrival. After a few moments, a little black speck whirled across that flaming horizon. He kept his eyes on her as she swung rooftop to rooftop, until her yo-yo wrapped around a metal bar to his right and she flew up to land beside him. When she looked at his face, Chat Noir felt the ache in her bright blue eyes. Ladybug had always been a confident and courageous heroine, but the lady before him now more resembled a regular young girl in a red and black costume.

"Chat…"

"M'lady." He approached and enveloped her in a hug. Her forehead fell against his shoulder, her arms huddled between their chests. When he pulled away, he got another good look at her face, and asked faintly, "What on earth happened?"

"I wish you were there," she told him earnestly, stepping away. Ladybug sat down and let her feet dangle over the edge of the Tower, looking out on the city now lighting up as night slowly descended upon them. The darkness in the clouds deepened. "Had you been, this might all be over now. I wouldn't be thinking this much."

Chat Noir took a seat beside her, withheld the urge to place his hand over hers in comfort. An intense contemplativeness settled beneath her brow. Her eyes became icy and thoughtful. "I'm sorry, Ladybug. I only found out something happened this afternoon. I was asleep last night. I sincerely wish I could have been there."

"I probably would have slept too," she murmured, "Had Tikki not woken me."

"Tikki? Did she sense something wrong?"

"There wasn't much to sense. She-" Ladybug made a face and took a breath. She glanced at Chat Noir, setting a hand on his arm. "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you, my kitty. I'm just so overwhelmed."

"Let's take it slow," said Chat Noir, and she glanced at him. "So Tikki wakes you up. What does she tell you?"

"She didn't tell me anything. The next thing I know, Hawkmoth is right there."

Ice crystalized in his veins. "_What?_ Hawkmoth was in _your room_?"

"Chat-"

"I thought he went after the miracle box! I thought he went to Master Fu!"

"Master Fu is gone," said Ladybug, to his shock. "He left Paris. And before he went, he passed miracle box and the guardianship to me."

"What?" Chat Noir whispered breathlessly. "When?"

"Only a couple months ago."

He hadn't known. She had never told him. In the last two months, whenever she had gone to fetch an ally, she had been going back to her own house. Yet, she'd acted like nothing had changed at all. Chat Noir swallowed, shaking his head. "Okay, okay, whatever, you're the guardian. But Hawkmoth? In your room? Did he - did he hurt you-"

"No." She was forceful in her response. "He was making off with the miracle box. He was alone. The only akuma he released was to distract me. I didn't have to fight anyone; no sentimonster, no Mayura. I followed him as fast as I could. He tried to lose me. He almost did, but I found him again." She stopped there, very suddenly. Chat Noir saw her giving a little shake of her head, as if she couldn't believe the words that had been meant to come out of her mouth next.

He prompted her. "You found him again?"

"Yes, and…"

"And?"

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

Chat Noir inched closer, trying to maintain his patience. "Okay. Well, you said Hawkmoth still has the box. Why is that? Why didn't you manage to get it back?"

"I tried at first," Ladybug told him with urgency. "I really did. I tried to convince him, but there was only so much I could do. He knows my identity."

"M'lady-"

"He knows, but it doesn't matter."

Chat Noir was incredulous. "It doesn't matter?"

"Chat…" she whispered, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end at the fear in her voice. "Hawkmoth told me what he wanted to use the wish for. He offered me the box in exchange for my miraculous and yours. I couldn't give it to him. Not yet, I -"

"Not yet?" Chat Noir echoed, stunned. "What do you mean not yet? You're not actually planning on it are you? His wish isn't that good, is it?" It couldn't be. Hawkmoth was a monster, there was no way around it after all the months he had wasted just to use people for his own gain. Chat Noir clenched his jaw. It had to be, what, nearly two years at this point that the bastard had been terrorizing Paris. No, Chat Noir couldn't imagine it. What had Hawkmoth done to manipulate his perceptive, headstrong lady into a daze of such uncharacteristic indecision?

Ladybug sucked in a breath through her mouth and expelled it with the sudden outburst, "Chat Noir, I know who Hawkmoth is."

He narrowed his eyes. "Do you? And you know for sure? This isn't like that other time?"

"I know for sure. I found him at his house. He showed me everything, and -" She shook her head and got to her feet, swinging her yo-yo like she was about to take off. "Listen, I have to make a decision. I have until tomorrow night, but I'm scared the longer I wait, the less likely I'll know what to do. I keep expecting the answer to get clearer, but it isn't." Her eyes followed him as he rose as well, and then she half-smiled apologetically. "Chat Noir, you trust me, right?"

"M'lady, of course, but -"

Her yo-yo came to a rest. "Then please, if I come to you tomorrow, and I ask for your miraculous, will you give it to me?"

Chat Noir's jaw fell open, his eye brows pinching. "What? No!" he gasped with dismay. "Ladybug, slow down. You _know_ Hawkmoth's identity. You _know_ his motive. And you're thinking you might give him your miraculous? _Both_ our miraculous? You're going to give up? You have him cornered! We can win this so easily!"

"It's not about winning anymore, Chat Noir," she sharply replied. "It never was."

"Then what is it about?" he demanded. He was raising his voice now, which made her scowl at him, her blue eyes like needles piercing into his own.

"I can't tell you," was all she said.

Chat Noir took a step away from her, and he could feel his own face slowly, intricately changing. "Why not?"

"I don't know what I'm doing, Chat."

"I'm your partner. We can figure it out together. You would need my ring anyway, wouldn't you? This is a choice we both have to make."

She bit her lip and looked out over the city. "I'm sorry, I can't."

"Ladybug, like I said, I trust you, but I need to know you trust me."

"You know I do."

He threw out his arms. "So why can't you tell me anything?"

She grimaced, turning her body away. Chat Noir recoiled as though wounded. "Ladybug," he murmured.

He saw himself in his room, the remaining light now bleeding through the clouds in the east, his forehead drying of the water he'd splashed on his face from the tap. He saw the city through his window, felt the anxious beating of his heart as he stood with a suitcase between his feet and kwami at his shoulder, trying to convince him, only half-successfully that a vacation was worth being excited for. He remembered the panic that flared through his body when the fears which had seized him then had been realized. He wasn't there, and he should have been. It changed nothing, he told himself, when he was calm enough to let the voice in his head the space to suggest it. When this all works out, everything will be as it once was. Ladybug will be safe. Paris will be safe. I'll still be her partner. She'll still believe in me.

She's always believed in me.

She'll always believe in me.

Nathalie had told him similar, as she leaned back in a porch chair blotted with morning dew, pale-faced and sick and trying to hide it. For all she tried to conceal about herself, she spared no truth when it came to him. "You deserve Ladybug's trust." Twelve hours ago, those words broke through his skin and flowed into his heart. After everything, it seemed so easy to believe. What had happened? What had gone wrong?

Chat Noir took Ladybug by the shoulders, and she looked to him in surprise. "Ladybug, just talk to me."

"You don't get it, Chat Noir, how difficult this is."

"Yes, because you won't give me an idea! You know who Hawkmoth is! You saw him! Holy shit, right? That's not something you can keep to yourself. I don't care what he said to manipulate you."

She seemed appalled, which shocked him. Shaking off his hands, she snapped, "He didn't manipulate me. He was truthful, _so_ truthful."

"You're _defending_ him?"

"No!" Ladybug spun her yo-yo. "I'm going, Chat. If I come back tomorrow, give me your ring."

He took her wrist. "Listen to yourself. That's crazy. The Ladybug I know wouldn't consider that. I know I wasn't there, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't trust me with this. After everything, Ladybug. As soon as I found out what happened, I haven't been able to think straight. Everything has been falling apart piece by piece, and I've worried myself to madness fretting over this." Chat Noir cupped his partner's cheek, and she gasped lightly at his touch. "You need to tell me. Whatever it is, I can see it's tearing you apart. Please, don't leave me in the dark, not after all that we've been through, and not while you're so troubled and so alone." That might have been what was hurting the most, that he could see how badly Ladybug needed him, and she resisted him anyway. If he couldn't even be trusted when she was as desperate as this…

Ladybug lowered her lashes, and removed Chat Noir's hand from her face. She squeezed his fingers, staring at the space between them. "Okay, okay, you're right," she breathed, sounding more like she was talking to herself than him. He watched the confidence build through her body, until she had the bravery to raise her eyes back to his. "Chat Noir, I'm sorry. I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, I trust you more than anyone. You've always been there for me, and you're here for me now, dragging me out of the dark. I haven't been fair." She bit down on her lip and sighed. "The truth is I'm scared. I'm scared I'm not cut out for all of this, not anymore. I became the guardian so suddenly and then this landed on my shoulders and it's all just so much. I've been so afraid of making the wrong choice that I've forgotten I don't have to make it alone. I should have gone to you right away, Chat."

He smiled and pulled her into a hug. She returned it, and he felt her relax. As they stepped away, she added, "Instead I was about to do something rash and go to Adrien Agreste. I thought he could help me figure out what to do."

Chat Noir tilted his head. "Why is that?"

"Because we were right."

"Right? About…"

"About Hawkmoth."

The realization arrived in an interesting pattern, like a train rolling to stop at its station. The beginnings showed before its ends. He could reach and touch it as it passed, perhaps, but it had yet to stand there all at once. His chest began to tighten, as with smoke.

"Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth."

The rest of the truth eased into place, screeching as it stopped at the front of his head. Chat Noir's hand had dropped away, leaving Ladybug's to caress empty air. Darkness closed in, or were those just the clouds swallowing the rest of the topaz sky?

"My kitty, Chat Noir." She had noticed his shock, his cat-like eyes going blind to her in favor of seeing other faces in his mind. Four faces, now becoming two. "What's the matter?"

He jumped back as she touched his arm. Chat Noir spared not a glance more in her direction before whipping out his baton and plunging into the city, leaving her to call after him.

Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth, she had told him, and she said something very similar not too long ago. Back when it was a mere suspicion. It had stunned him then, now it had slammed through other walls in his head, one revelation leading to others without them having to be said out loud. They came like screams to him, though, wind whistling through a narrow space, a blade scraping against glass.

Gabriel Agreste is Hawkmoth, she had told him. And the rest of the story blew up in lights.

Nathalie Sancoeur is Mayura.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Hope you don't mind me dropping this on you two days early. I simply couldn't wait ;)**

Chapter Eleven

He couldn't even see straight. The world flew behind him in abstract blotches of gray and black and the occasional surge of light past the corners of his eyes. He hit surfaces not knowing how quickly they were leaping up to catch him. At times he didn't know if he had landed on a rooftop or asphalt or a window ledge. He just kept moving, kept running. The air howled in his ears. It felt like it was about to break into a storm. Any moment. Any second? How fast was he running? What street was he sailing over? He couldn't say. He was guided home by pure instinct, nothing more.

This pain in his chest, he'd never felt anything like it before. A weight, a rock, an entire planet was sinking into his heart, wedging itself between his lungs. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe.

_It's true, it's true, it's true_, he thought. The words were a siren in his brain, barely registering as anything other than noise, a dizzying spiral of pained, horn-like wailing. He couldn't even bring himself to question it. He couldn't grapple for survival in a few sparse seconds of denial. Denial was simply a way for the heart to protect itself, and Chat Noir's was beyond saving.

The mansion. His house. Her room. Situated at the back, the window opened as piercing heat was lost of the sun and the air took on a mild breeze. As he got close enough, the world took shape once more. Branches rattled in a foreboding wind. The sky was dark with an opaque blanket of clouds, and the horizon line flushed vaguely red like the dusky glow of dying cinders. Chat Noir could presently feel the flow of blood under his skin, hot like he was made of fire within. He dove through the open window, landing not with the grace of a feline but a threatening bang of his shoes against the solid floor.

"Nathalie," he gasped, and after he spoke her name, he fell to his knees and started panting for breath. His throat and chest burned. He had run without falter.

He received no response. Chat Noir looked to the bed and saw troubled sheets, but no woman within them. A pair of glasses was folded on the bedside table beside a digital clock. It wasn't yet eight.

An eerie sensation crept up his spine, to not see her here while his mind roiled as it did with all its shock and rage and pain. He expanded his baton to the length of his body and held it defensively in front of him, forcing himself back to his feet. His own heavy, aching breath filled the silence of the room.

"Nathalie," he murmured, eyes flicking to and fro. "Nathalie!"

"Adrien?"

Her voice came from the bathroom, the door to which was closed, but no light shone from the slim space beneath it. Chat Noir watched as the doorknob slowly turned with the sort of caution one would expect from a horror film, but the anguish Chat Noir felt was worse than any fear the darkest movie could strike. His hand quivered, the baton unsteady in his grip.

The door opened into the blackness of the bathroom, and Nathalie became visible in the low light of the lamp beside her bed. Suddenly, Chat Noir remembered she was sick, and perhaps she looked even worse than when he last saw her hours ago; hours ago, when she had been a different person. She was standing, though she held the door so tightly that her arm shook, and she leaned against the doorframe. He noticed a damp splotch on the sleeve of her robe, like she had just cleaned it, and her hair hung in flat strands around her pale, heavily shadowed face.

She regarded him strangely for a moment. "Chat Noir," she rasped, voice hoarse. "What brings you here? Is something wrong?"

And he realized, all at once, much like one passes swiftly through the surface of water, that he had no idea what to say. Did he ask why: why would she do this? Why would she lie to him? Why would she pretend? Why would she choose to go on fighting after learning who it was she was fighting? Did she not care? Did she hate him? Was her goal worth more than the ten years she had been there for him? Did she regret any of it? Or, did he come right out and say it: You're Mayura. You're a traitor. You're a monster and a villain and you've hurt so many people and you've hurt me. You're a liar. You have never been any of these things for as long as I've known you, unless you've secretly been all of them. This whole time. This whole fucking time. And the question once more: How could you?

He didn't say any of this. None of it would pass between his lips. Instead, he started crying. Tears welled in his eyes and poured over his mask faster than he could tell it was happening, the baton dropping out of his hand and clattering on the floor between his feet. He sobbed, his entire body catching on the bursts of emotion in his chest. Chat Noir pressed his hands into his mouth, and started stepping towards her, whose face had gone slack and unreadable. She stepped forward too, but she didn't let go of the door.

"Nathalie," he sobbed, wanting to fall into her arms, wanting to get close enough to see into her eyes and read the answer to every one of his questions. And then he stopped because she was Mayura and she had wanted his miraculous for months. They stood two meters from each other. "Oh, Nathalie, why? Why?"

She held out her hand to him, but her reach was weak and it fell back at her side. She rooted herself to the door. She looked miserable. And there came upon her, like the shadow of a cloud upon the earth, the dawn of her understanding. Something very grave and very painful appeared in her tired blue eyes, something that resembled pity but was poisoned by hatred. Hatred Chat Noir feared terribly was for him, but then even as she stared into his tear-stained face, she was clearly seeing inward.

"You angel," she said to him, "You sweetheart. How could I even know where to begin? How could I think I deserve to explain myself? How should it be possible?"

A part of him, a very hurt and angry part, wanted to seize her and shake her. She was Mayura, she had done far worse than that (his neck ached with the memory of her hands around his throat, once so long ago. It had to have been before she knew. It had to have been). But the part of him that loved her like the closest thing he'd have to a second mother ached for a dream, for her arms around his shoulders, for the smell of carnations and that sad smile on her mouth. That wistful, heartbroken smile would have felt like the sun now.

"Please," he urged, "Please, Nathalie...tell me. I need to know." When she hesitated, he snapped, startling even himself by the wrath in his voice, "Tell me!"

The shout appeared to weaken her more, but just when she seemed about to fall, her grip tightened on the door. "Adrien, I'm sorry. I truly am. I'm more sorry than you would be willing to believe, I'm certain of it. But it's okay. If you don't believe me, it's okay. I knew one day this would come to pass. I knew you would learn the truth and I am prepared for you to hate me."

Did he hate her? This pitiful woman? How many versions of Nathalie had he met in the last few months and was the wretched, self-loathing creature in front of him any of them? Was she all of them? He couldn't picture it. He couldn't picture any of this. His mind was blank and grasping for something solid, but it was all static and rage. He tried to speak, but his words came out a jumbled stammer.

"I didn't plan on this," she went on, once he had given up trying to form a sentence. "Two years ago, I didn't believe I'd be here. I'd hoped this would have been over almost as soon as it began. But you and Ladybug..." she paused, turned her head away, "Well, you make an awfully effective team."

"What is that supposed to mean?" he spat, making her flinch. "The reason you're in this position now is because Ladybug and I had the nerve to be good at our jobs? At protecting Paris from your fucking terrorism?" He'd never sworn in front of her before, let alone at her.

"That's not what I mean. You were right to do that, of course you were." At this point, she released her iron grip on the door, and Chat Noir stood back as she walked slowly to the unmade bed. They way she moved, she could have been made of paper, she could crumple at any moment, and Chat Noir felt the tension in his arms as though they were ready to shoot out and catch her if they needed to, but she reached the foot of the bed and sat down, sighing into her hands. "Adrien, I do not blame you for anything. You're a better person than I could ever hope to be. You have nothing to feel of yourself but proud, but I…" Her eyes flashed with bitterness. "I am a monster."

Her words sent the memory exploding through his head like a bullet. Four months ago, on pale April afternoon, she had looked up into his face while she backed down the mighty front staircase, almost as if she had loathed to think herself level to him. And her voice as she spoke, all tight and coarse and yet churning with emotion, hiding what could only be described as a thin and useless layer of ice: "I'm not a hero. I'm just doing my job, and I'm so sorry if I have ever hurt you by it. I know I have. I know I will."

_I know I will_, she had told him. And her brow had lowered over her eyes and deepened the shadow within them.

Everything made sense, the way she had avoided him that week, the way she seemed to fear him now. She'd watched him play with his ring while she played with her hair or wrung her hands in a show of anxiety that he had never known until she had discovered the truth. She'd been _terrified_, Nathalie. But Mayura, Mayura had been no less vicious. No less determined -

Except for the day, the last time he had seen her, when she laid weakly at his feet and shouted, "End this!" at him, her voice and eyes begging, the pain palpable. She had been just as fiery as always while she was locked in with Ladybug and Rena Rouge, but the moment he had the upper hand, that anger disappeared. Mayura disappeared. Chat Noir had thought he had been staring at a stranger, yet all along, that tired, anguished woman was -

"You," he growled. A million things flared to life in his head, "You - you are -" He bared his teeth, fist clenched at his side, "You_ are_ a monster, Nathalie. A traitor. A super villain. You've hurt so many people. Maybe I would be mad that you didn't stop the second you knew who it was you were fighting, but why does that matter?" he demanded. She gazed at him with parted white lips and round eyes. "You chose to fight in the first place."

"I did, you're right. And I want your forgiveness, Adrien, but I know better than to beg."

"The way you and Hawkmoth have taken advantage of people's emotions, have sent a whole city into distress day after day after day, have hurt me, and Ladybug, and - and -" He couldn't look at her. Chat Noir spun on his heels and stared back into that dark bathroom from which she emerged.

"I'm sorry."

"Are you?" he barked. "Are you really? Do you regret any of it, Nathalie?"

There was a long pause and raindrops beat against the window in the stretch of her silence. He listened to the unsteady rhythm of her breath, feeling her eyes on his back. He was cold. "I have more regrets than I can think to name," she finally said, words slow and substantial. They sounded like metal. "Where to even begin? Adrien, oh, I wish more than anything I hadn't ever met your father, that I'd never step foot into this house and all its secrets. I wish I'd never had the chance to watch you grow, become the young man you are today. I wish I hadn't stopped running away. I used to run and run and never look back, you know. I used to run because I knew staying would kill me. Did you know that every home I've ever had was broken? This one is no different. How hard can it be to find a place that doesn't crumble at your feet?" There was an eerie absence of emotion in her voice that only grew more and more vacant, like she was tiring of feeling. "And I regret hurting the people I love, because who would ever want to do something like that? Who would be so foolish as to hurt the very few who have let her inside? I regret hurting you, Adrien. Because I love you like my own family. I've had so many bad days and finding out you were Chat Noir was one of the worst. How unworthy of life I had felt. Unworthy of everything I'd grown to hold so regrettably dear." Chat Noir flinched, because she punctuated her sentence with a loud, gravely cough that shook the room, and then she went on, her voice ragged, "But I don't regret Mayura! Of all the things not to deplore! I am monstrous, yes, and a traitor, as you say, and I did hurt many people, and even now, after everything it has done to me, it's the one thing that has ever made me feel free. And that freedom - such a cruel illusion, and I only have myself to blame for believing it. As for what remains true, helping your father, helping him anyway I can, as I always have. I cannot regret that."

Chat Noir's blood boiled upon hearing her bring up his father - Hawkmoth, and he finally spun back around to face her. She looked small, her shoulders hunched forward, her hair dangling over her chest. Tears shone on white skin, and though her voice had been tired, her eyes were wild with emotion. "My father -"

"You should have seen him when this all began. Oh, for so long he did not know what to do. He wasn't eating. He could barely work. Not with a head as troubled as his. I wish he had been better to you. I regret not pushing him harder. I was so afraid of pushing him away. He'd already walked so far. I couldn't lose him and so I had to follow." She wept openly, but her voice still kept its hardness, its tenacious resistance to feel. "You know, Adrien, how lonely it is to keep a secret, to hide from the world, to carry a pain no one else could know. My whole life had felt like that, and now _he_ had felt like that, and all we had - _all we had_ \- was each other. Your anger, I imagine, is deep, and it deserves to be deeper. You have hurt so much for our sake. I will never forgive myself for hurting you. But I will _never_ regret being there for him."

He was stunned, overwhelmed by her confession and by the furious light in her eyes. He swallowed painfully, like a stone was passing through his throat. All that pain, all of those words, they were true. Feeling tactful for the first time since he arrived, he took a step closer and asked, "My father, Hawkmoth...why are you helping him? What is he after? Why is all of this worth it?"

"Then I suppose Ladybug didn't have the chance to tell you," she murmured quietly. Nathalie sounded distant and breathless, like the weight of her previous words was finally settling in.

"Nathalie." He knelt in front of her, this miserable woman, who must have been miserable for much, much longer than she had ever admitted.

Chat Noir felt the tears return to his eyes, and before he had opened his mouth to speak once more, they were already spilling over. "Tell me anything but that he wants to hurt people with our miraculous. Tell me all of this was just a means to an end. Father has been cruel to me, you know it. But I know he loves me. I know he loves me. Please, I don't - I don't want to believe he's - I mean the miraculous, to use them you have to -" He couldn't get the words out. Chat Noir hung his head. He prepared for the worst, trembling.

Her hand found his cheek and raised his face back up. By now, he was crying as hard as she was. He braced for her answer, but instead of words, a series of ugly coughs left her mouth. She recoiled and pressed her hand firmly to her lips. Chat Noir sprang back, but in his shock, landed on his tailbone instead of his feet. He watched as she curled her body into a ball, shoulders rattling. The sound coming out of her throat was deep and terrible, rougher than even stone and surely much wetter. Chat Noir panicked. He scrambled to his feet and ran into the bathroom, flicking on the light, searching for something to use to help her. A white bath towel was mangled on the floor. He went to grab it, and then pulled back his hand in horror, pressing it to his chest.

Was that blood?

Carefully, he unfurled the towel. Nathalie continued to cough in the bedroom, and the gruesome sound paired with those dark splotches of blood, some larger than coins suddenly made him feel very faint.

_No…_

Chat Noir ran back to her. Nathalie, upon seeing him, lunged for the towel and pressed it to her mouth. Her left hand was reddened, her face flickered with pain.

"What…" he breathed, seeing the spots of blood on her sleeve. Nathalie coughed twice more, two jagged expulsions that sounded like she was trying to push shrapnel through her lungs. Then, she was quiet, holding the towel to her face, still, eyes wide and brilliant and eerily absent of fear.

He wanted to reach out to her but found himself paralyzed.

"Nathalie!" he called, as if she was far away. "What - what's going on?"

She didn't answer.

"Chat Noir." Ladybug's voice cut through the ringing in his ears. He and Nathalie turned their heads towards the window, still being pelted by the furious rainfall. His lady had landed in the room, her hair and suit dripping. Blue eyes glowed at him gravely, horror flitting through them. "Chat Noir, she's dying."

Lightning split across the thundercloud, washing them all in its violent light.

"No," he said, shaking his head. But he had known. Ladybug stepped further into the room. Her face was sympathetic. "Nathalie, no!"

Finally, she had removed the towel from her mouth, folding it to hide the fresh blot of blood, but he saw it anyway, and it made his stomach turn. She gazed at him with sadness but with no regret. "Adrien, I'm sorry."

"You can't be dying!"

"It's going to be okay."

"No!"

"Listen to me," Nathalie urged him, "Everything is fine. I promise. It's for the best. You wanted to know why your father and I have done this. You wanted to know what we're after. Adrien, we are trying to save your mother. Your mother, she's alive. But barely. She's kept in a garden beneath the house." His head had started spinning, so she leaned as far as she could without falling and brushed his hand to bring him back. "We're going to wish for her back. So you can be happy again. And Gabriel can be happy again. And everything can go back to how it once was."

Chat Noir couldn't speak. She's mad, he thought. _There's something wrong with her head._

Ladybug had approached slowly and now, her hand rested on Nathalie's shoulder with incredible gentleness. The older woman glanced at the hero and something dark crossed over her deathly pale face. Nathalie remarked, "Now you know why I'd come to you all those months ago. Do you wish you had listened to me then?"

"The peacock miraculous did this to you," Ladybug said matter-of-factly, not answering the question. "I - I wondered if there was something wrong with it, if it was hurting you. He never told me this, but I have to ask. Has it done to you what it did to Gabriel Agreste's wife? Is that how all of this began?"

Nathalie nodded. Her eyes looked unfocused.

Chat Noir wanted to throw up. His stomach felt like it was being wrapped around itself. He stumbled away from the both of them and only stopped moving when he had rammed into the dresser. Ladybug followed after him and took his hand, holding it up to her heart. "It's okay," she told him, but he was shaking his head madly.

"Ladybug...Ladybug, this is awful."

Her soft gaze radiated his own pain. She nodded. "I know."

Nathalie was watching them. "You don't have much time to decide," she said to Ladybug. Seeing the hero now besides the boy she knew as Adrien, that initial darkness that had colored her face and lifted. "You are so young to have so much on your shoulders. That guardian was a fool to entrust such incredible power to children."

"Will it have been better in your hands?" Ladybug asked, not tearing her eyes away from Chat.

"That's for you to decide, isn't it?" Nathalie's breath hitched and she raised the towel back to her mouth. Fortunately for her and for Chat Noir's stomach, nothing else happened. She sighed carefully and set it back down again. "But you would prefer a willing sacrifice be made than an unsuspecting one, wouldn't you?"

At this, Ladybug turned around. "I'm sorry?"

Nathalie's eyes drifted from the spotted heroine to the shivering boy at her side. Chat Noir was pleading with her, but not even he knew what it was he was saying. _Don't die_, perhaps? _Don't let this happen, don't let it be true?_ "There's no way around it, is there? No perfect solution. If Emilie could be back with us at no cost, you wouldn't hesitate. For his sake," she added, gesturing to Chat Noir. Then something overcame her, passing through like a wave. Chat Noir didn't believe she could look worse but somehow her exhaustion deepened, as though it had reached through her body to her soul. "But there is a cost, and I'm willing to go. I'm ready."

Chat Noir wrestled his hands away from Ladybug and stepped past her, shouting, "No!"

"It's for your mother, Adrien. Your mother, who you hold so dear." Red-rimmed eyes closed mildly. "Look at me. Don't you think this is best? It's the only way, and I'm content. I would travel to the ends of the earth for this family, you know. Don't you see? Don't you see this is the end? Please, please, don't be like him. Don't make this hard. It's so easy! Don't think about me. Think of your mother. She would be so happy to see you again."

Chat Noir could not reply. How many more protests would fall useless at her feet? This woman, who had once been the picture of strength and dignity and loyalty, was so close to losing everything. And she would lose it to bring his mother back to him. Chat Noir blinked. Long ago, he had lost hope of ever seeing her again, and now that hope was sitting before him, weak and dying but still very much there.

Did he want it?

He was sick with himself. How could he think this way? See Nathalie as a bartering chip, his mother as a prize? What was going on? How had this happened?

Chat Noir's mother, Adrien's mother, who had his eyes and his hair and his smile and his temper and his spirit, or so he had always been told, she was alive. She was near. She had been here always, never wanted to leave him. She had been sick. She had used the peacock miraculous. The thought of why may have crossed his mind, but it was moving too quickly to dwell upon.

Two years she had been gone. Two years since he had seen her face, heard her speak. He had always believed his mother had a lovely voice. While he practiced his piano, she would stand by and listen, and on the harder days, she might sing along with his playing. If the song had no words, she would make up her own. She sang about the places she's visited, about people she met, and sometimes, for more playful songs she would make up jokes in the words, leave a young Adrien laughing so hard that he would have to lift his fingers off the keys.

When he was scared or upset, she would always run her fingers through his hair with her right hand and hug his shoulders with her left, humming, or maybe telling him a story. She would listen with her head tilted back whenever he read her children's books written in Chinese as part of his practice. He had always wanted to go to a real school, had never been allowed to until she was already gone, but when he told her this - and he told her a lot - she would always smile. She was always kind.

Yes, he was sure, Emilie had been the kindest mother in the city. In the world. And when she had gone it made no sense. She left a lot, and he had never questioned it, because she always came back. This time, she didn't, and Adrien had lain stretched out in his bed for months, staring up at that high ceiling, searching for answers in the darkness. He wanted to reach the empty space she had left behind, that vast and cold empty space, pull her back into existence, where she somehow found a way to make his lonely childhood feel so much less lonely. From time to time he had resented her for not being enough on the worst of days, resented that she and his father never let him step out in the world and search for other things to fill an ever-growing void. He'd never felt more guilty for it than when she didn't return. She didn't return. She didn't return.

But now she could.

Ladybug grabbed his hand. "This is what I meant back there, Adrien, about this being hard. And this must be harder for you than anyone. I couldn't imagine."

Adrien. She said his name. Chat Noir inhaled sharply and pulled her into a hug. He cried quietly into her hair, cried for his mother, cried for Nathalie, cried for the father he still had yet to face, cried for the two years of emptiness and chaos and secrets and lies and not knowing what it was all for until that moment. He cried for her, for all the weight she held up on shoulders with rarely a complaint, and little had he known how much of that weight should have been his to bear. He was being crushed under it now. He could feel himself sinking into the floor.

Now both on their knees, they held their embrace for several more seconds. Ladybug rubbed gentle circles into his back with the base of her palm. She planted a kiss on his ear, and he sobbed louder. Beyond the window, rain poured into a night still young and long. Nathalie watched them, throat tasting like copper, blood made of poison, head filled with thorns, one for every regret she had yet to name.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

His miraculous was going wild. Under normal circumstances, Gabriel would have taken the opportunity to form a nasty akuma out of the volatile emotions pulsing through his skin. He felt like he was on fire, but he had nothing to gain anymore from answering this call. At long last, that part of the story had come to an end, the most terrifying yet strangely freeing prospect he could face.

The burning sensation was difficult to ignore, and with every sudden jab into his chest, he took a step closer to Emilie, until he was practically on top of the glass. He'd been down here for hours, and for the first time in all the years she had been kept in this beautiful, dreadful place, he had nothing at all to say. It was surprising, because his heart was heavier now than it had ever been, and in the worst of times, it used to be a comfort that he could stand before Emilie and expel the troubles of his heart to her as though she could hear them. Now, though, what could he say? He'd told her the story, he'd wished for the best, and the most he could want now was to be close to her again. With his hands on the glass, only hoping to reach through and grab her hand, he felt a million miles away. He was closer now than he had ever been, but faster than he could say her name, that hope could vanish, and now he knew it was a hope attached to a much greater cost than he had anticipated. He told himself Emilie would not have wanted this, but she wanted life. She begged for it, and she closed it in his hands and asked him to give it back to her anyway that he could. And to his horror, when he'd finally uncupped that promise and truly decided to know it, it was not her name ascribed to that life. He felt like he was holding something that all along had been seeping venom into his skin.

_Emilie…._He couldn't bring himself to say her name. If now he could only hear the sound of her voice he missed so dearly, maybe that could draw it out of him. Gabriel felt weak, heart thumping rapidly in his chest. Why...why did she feel further away from him than ever before?

_Come back to me. Please. You promised...you promised you wouldn't go._

Gabriel was nearly brought to his knees by the force that surged from his miraculous down the entire length of his body, a crest of fire breaking and spilling over. "What the hell is that?" he shouted, and when he backed away from Emilie, his eyes found Nooroo, floating quietly to his right.

"Master…" the kwami quietly chirped.

"What's going on?" he asked with a growl. He didn't wait for Nooroo to answer, he reached out himself and very, very quickly, too quickly, hit a wall.

"No," he gasped, and he started running towards the lift, his footsteps reverberating cacophonously through the sanctuary. A small gathering of butterflies scattered at his approach. "Nooroo! Why didn't you say something?"

"No one is hurt, master," replied Nooroo apologetically. As they rose through the room and into blackness, he added, "There's a lot of pain, yes, but do you feel the smaller things? The need for clarity, perhaps? Worry not, master, whatever has happened needed to."

"What the hell are you talking about?" As soon as Gabriel had landed in his office, he took off into the foyer, clambered up the stairs, panting for breath mostly out of desperation. "Since when have you started speaking in riddles?"

Inside the house. That intense storm of emotion had been coming from inside the house and he hadn't even noticed. From Nathalie's room. Fear twisted through his chest. He clutched his necktie. In a matter of seconds his mind had darted back and forth a million times over on whether to transform. Three, he felt, there were three people in that room, and he could guess who they were.

Gabriel flung the door wide, and it crashed into the wall sending a jolt through everyone in the room. For just a moment, he let the two people knelt on the floor fade into the background like the sound of rain on the dark windows opposite of him. His eyes went immediately to Nathalie. She sat on the foot of the bed, pale as he'd left her with blood on her sleeve and a towel folded in her lap. Her gaze was bright with alarm, and once she'd taken a few seconds to register who it was that had so suddenly exploded through the door, she closed her eyes and turned her head away, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip.

And then the worst of his high started to ebb. The other two figures in the room had risen to their feet, and the one with the cat-like eyes glared at him with a familiar hatred. When Gabriel looked deeper, he noticed something else in the hero's face, but before he could make out what it was, Chat Noir was starting towards him.

"_You_," he snarled, and Gabriel had never heard the cat so venomous. "You - you asshole! You son of a bitch! I'll -" Chat Noir balled his fists, seething, eyes glowing with a menace, and then, that second emotion broke through the cracks on his face. Gabriel noticed the shine of tears smudged across his dark mask.

Gabriel looked briefly to Ladybug, who watched with an outstretched hand towards Chat Noir. He tossed his necktie onto the floor and threatened, "Take another step closer to me, cat, and you'll regret it."

Pain flashed across Chat Noir's face and a sharp pang of it registered through his miraculous. The hero's green eyes were locked onto the violet brooch pinned to Gabriel's chest. He froze.

"I suppose your partner's told you everything. I figured she'd have to. It would only make sense that you'd be the unreasonable one, you childish fool," he continued.

"Gabriel," Nathalie whimpered.

"Have you hurt her?" he demanded, noticing the blood on her sleeve once again. "Have you?!"

"No, he hasn't done anything," Nathalie cried, shaking her head.

Gabriel, eyeing Chat Noir with warning, tried to step slowly around him, but once the hero had seen he was heading for Nathalie's side, he sprang back and blocked Gabriel's path. "How about _you_ stay away from her?" he growled. "_You're_ the one who let this happen."

Appalled, Gabriel sneered, "You dare accuse me, cat?"

"You don't even know who you're talking to right now!" Chat Noir exclaimed, voice breaking, and Gabriel started back. "I can't believe you. You really don't care! Look at her! She - she - _damn you_, she's coughing up blood, and now I'm being told that this has happened before? You let it happen to her, and you let it happen to _Mom_!"

Gabriel had been plunged into ice cold water.

Nathalie was reaching for Chat Noir's hand, but she couldn't reach far enough. "No, no...he didn't. He didn't want this. He didn't want this. He didn't want this," she repeated.

_I didn't want this._

Gabriel's hand found Chat Noir's face, and to his surprise, the boy didn't flinch away, or slap his hand, or even glare. As soon as his fingers had made contact with Chat's cheek, a flood of astonishment roiled through the bright green eyes staring back at him. Bright like emeralds. Intensely cat-like, but now suddenly so familiar. He remembered this look, the look he'd received when he'd walked onto stage during a fashion show, delayed by the intervention of Style Queen, delayed further by the intervention of his apology. It was an apology he'd shared through a hug and that he had taken back that very same day when the opportunity struck. _Imagine_, he thought, _imagine if I had given up that day. Nathalie would not be inches from death. You would not hate me as much I'm sure you do._

But Emilie…

"Adrien," he whispered, voice barely audible. "Had I only known…"

"Would you have changed anything, Father?" His son asked him. The shock was wearing off, and he removed Gabriel's hand from his face. "Would you have stopped?"

"I…"

Chat Noir turned his eyes to Nathalie, who held them bravely. "Because she didn't."

Gabriel's mind reeled and he stared between the two of them. The dark-haired woman finally met Gabriel's eyes and immediately seemed to flinch away in agony. Her hands twisted at the towel laid over her thighs. He tried to move towards her but Chat Noir didn't budge. "Nathalie, did you know? Did you know he was Chat Noir?"

"She's known for months. She found out in April, when I had no choice but to transform in order to save us from that earthquake akuma," he spat.

"April," Gabriel murmured, "That was when you tried to end things. When you went to Ladybug."

He glanced at the other hero in the room, who stood apart from the three of them with this brilliant look of pity on her face. Knowing who she was behind that mask, that well-meaning young girl who came such an ordinary family, he spared half a second to wonder how she must think of the people falling to pieces in front of her face. What a decisive, ingenious foe she had always been, and now she seemed to have no clue what to do but stand and watch. She, after all, held the power in her hands to end this, and now that Chat Noir knew, he did as well. But his hands were trembling with anger; power spilled out of the gaps of clenched fists. Seeing the cat like this wasn't much of a shock, but knowing it was his son, Gabriel was hammered with the realization of how horrified he had been for Adrien to resent him. The consolation has always been a lie: _he'd understand_.

In the stunned silence that had fallen over the room, Ladybug finally found the chance to step forward. "That ring you had with you that night," she murmured to Nathalie, who tried to cut her off:

"Don't say anything of it."

"It was the real one, wasn't it? You really had Chat's miraculous."

Chat Noir gave Nathalie a long and astounded look, but he said nothing. Gabriel could feel the exhaustion of everybody around him. He watched his son's rigid shoulders fall as if to say, _This is it. I know everything now_.

Gabriel closed his eyes. The room was spinning. His body felt as though it had been bruised by the storm of emotion the last few minutes had wrought. How did he let this happen? Any of this? He'd tried so hard, from time to time, at the expense of his son's happiness to keep him safe, not just from the world, but from himself, from all this pain he was sure to bring. And he had been failing since day one.

He swayed on his feet, and Chat Noir reached out to steady him, teeth bared almost in disgust at himself for bothering with the gesture. The grip on his father's elbow was forceful to the point of sending a dull pain shooting through his arm. He sighed deeply, a growl manifesting out of the depths of his chest, and then he raised his eyes to Gabriel's. "Father, all of this, everything, it was all for Mom, is that the truth? Is that what you would have told me had you chosen to be honest?"

Gabriel closed his hand over his son's forearm, regarded him earnestly, wished to rip that mask of his face just to see Adrien's face, his eyes, his real eyes. "Yes." He was certain. "All I wanted was to protect you. I never wanted you to see this side of me."

"Yet, I have. And it hurts, Father. It hurts because I can _barely_ _recognize_ that side of you. Do you even know what you're like?" Chat Noir waited a moment for Gabriel to give him an answer, who could only stare back in dumb silence.

His next words drove shards of ice into his skin.

"Take me to my mother."

Everybody's heads snapped to attention.

"A-Adrien," stammered Gabriel. Chat Noir released him and he stumbled forward, reaching after him. "Are you sure?"

He snapped, "Of course! She's my mother! And she's here beneath the house, and for two years she's been gone from me. How often do you see her? Is that where you disappear to? Why you've been so unavailable?"

As though Gabriel couldn't feel any more guilty.

"Take him to her, Gabriel," urged Nathalie gently. Her eyelids fluttered like she was struggling to stay awake. "What's the use of hiding anymore?"

The tension in Gabriel's chest released with the expulsion of a deep breath. "Very well," he acquiesced. Then, turning to Ladybug, "Bring him to the atelier, will you? I'll be right there."

She slipped her hand into Chat Noir's and gave her partner a reassuring smile, faint but unmistakable. "Come, Chat."

Father and son locked eyes as the two heroes made their way gingerly out of the bedroom. Ladybug was courteous enough to shut the door behind them, and Gabriel felt a small swell of gratitude for her patience. He imagined he had dropped an awfully immense weight on the girl's young shoulders by expecting her choose their path, but even now she was as graceful as ever, as much as she could possibly be. He was sure that if she had not been with them in the room tonight, this sorry situation could have gone worse, and Gabriel could hardly survive it as it was.

Once again, he found himself alone with Nathalie, who had closed her eyes and sat shivering on the foot of the bed, exactly where he had found her when he had come in. Gabriel went to her slowly, slipped an arm around her waist and drew her back until he had rested her head on the pillow. The towel in her lap had fallen away with the movement, and Gabriel, though he had sucked in an abrupt breath, tried to ignore the spots of blood staining his vision at the corner of his eye.

"Nathalie, I'll return. I'll return to you," he promised.

He was about to turn away, but her weak white hand flew up and clutched his sleeve. "No...don't."

"I'm sorry, I have to let them in to the sanctuary. I have to show them."

She shook her head. "No, don't...don't come back for me."

He was alarmed. "Nathalie!"

"We're so close," she whispered between her teeth. "You cannot give it up now, Gabriel. You are just inches from having her in your arms again, from giving Adrien his mother back. You promised her. And I promised you, I would do anything."

"You shouldn't have had to do this," he insisted, squeezing her hand, but she didn't squeeze back.

"It's okay. It doesn't hurt anymore."

The air was seized in his lungs.

She released him and set her hand over her middle. "Now you must go, before we run out of time. Do the right thing. Save _her_."

Gabriel backed away. She acknowledged him no further, and laid utterly still but for the shallow rise and fall of her chest. His breath shuddered. He realized he was crying.

On his way out, he hit the light switch and left her to rest in darkness. The sound of ebbing rainfall against her window was swallowed into silence as he shut the door and turned his back.

* * *

"How is she?" asked Chat Noir solemnly as his father came through the doors to the office.

"You saw her. You know," was his steady reply. He'd managed to wipe the tears from his eyes before he had to face the children. Ladybug still held to Chat's hand, and they stood before Emilie's gleaming golden portrait. Tonight, it didn't look perfect. Tonight, those eyes were cruel in their loveliness. "Step aside. Allow me."

Chat Noir watched with narrowed eyes as Gabriel pressed his fingers into the hidden buttons, a blitz of quiet ticks snapping through the room before the floor opened up. It was an impossibly tight fit for the three of them. Chat Noir and Ladybug stood practically in an embrace, and Gabriel could feel his son's spine against his own as they descended. Emerging into the crypt, Chat Noir gasped.

"This whole time…" he breathed, almost entirely to himself.

Indeed, he'd had no clue about this space, it's high walls and dim golden lights and iron bridge that turned the lightest footsteps into a clamorous echo. As they made their landing, Chat Noir's eyes honed in on the capsule glowing at the sanctuary's far end. They were too distant to make out the details of Emilie's face within it, but Chat Noir could certainly tell what was contained on the other side of that cold glass. Gabriel stepped out of the lift first, turned to watch Chat shrink further into Ladybug's arms, staring past his father with a face pale with horror.

Gabriel offered, "We don't have to be here if it's too much."

"No, I want to see her," his son insisted. He slipped his hand into Ladybug's.

It was terribly familiar, this feeling. Fewer than twenty-four hours ago, he had been leading Ladybug alone across this same bridge to face that same unsettling truth. Now, his son, who he'd wanted to dearly to protect from this, was in tow, dressed as one of his enemies, as far from peace as one could be without being totally ripped apart.

Nooroo appeared as they got closer to the garden, glancing shyly back at the heroes who followed his master. He must have known Gabriel hadn't the heart to shoo him into hiding once again. Had Nooroo ever been freer in Gabriel's possession than now? Was he trying to test the limits as they became weaker? Gabriel looked into his kwami's face and tried to interpret the solemn expression staring past him. Was it shame? Imploration? Did he wish to apologize to the heroes that his power was the one used for wrongdoing, or did he try to tell them that it wasn't that simple? Did a kwami who could feel the emotions of every living soul close enough to him ever pick a side to stand by? A heart to listen to deeper than all the rest?

Gabriel stopped abruptly before the capsule, tearing his eyes away from Nooroo to peer up into Emilie's countenance. Unchanged as the portrait in the office above them, just as beautiful and just more expectant. She, with more confidence than any of the rest of them, had known this would come to an end somehow. Gabriel wished it could end right then, without another word having to be spoken. If she could just open her eyes and stand and smile and end it like that, end it so easily, he would have nothing else to ask for. He would not even ask for forgiveness; though, even now he doubted he'd have the heart or the gall to make such a plea.

"Claws in." A flash of green light reflected against the capsule's glass casing, and Gabriel watched his son, Adrien, eyes red and swollen approach his mother, who was not able to receive him. Above his head, the black cat kwami floated reluctantly after him, tossed a quick glare Gabriel's way before deciding he wasn't worth looking at. His slanted green eyes landed on Nooroo instead, glowing with distress. All the time, they two have been living under the same roof, belonging to father and son, clueless of the other's presence.

Adrien dropped to his knees. "Mom…" he gasped, and the tears came once again. "You're here."

Her silence answered him.

Fingernails sank into grass, a tear-soaked face contorted into rage. Gabriel kept his distance, held his hands behind his back, tried desperately to allow his son this moment, but the wrath he felt burning through his skin was aimed directly at him.

"You hid her from me for two years," Adrien growled under his breath, and it was one thing to see Chat Noir so rich in hatred, but to see it in his son, in those eyes which were also hers, drove something sharp and poisonous into his chest. "You let me believe she was gone."

"Adrien, I'm -"

"Sorry? Yes, I'm sure you are. You would be, now that your secret's out."

"I wanted to protect you."

"You have an awful way of showing it." Adrien's eyes caught on a pair of butterflies which fluttered over the capsule, their wings flickering with such delicate movement. His jaw set.

"Spots off." Ladybug - Marinette - appeared beside Adrien, sitting on the ground at his side. He glanced at her, surprised.

"M-Marinette!"

"Shh, it's alright." She held his hand, leaned her head into his shoulder. "I'm here for you, Adrien. I always am."

Gabriel took a step away from them, his heart heavy, his mind landing a memory now two years old, when in his greatest moment of despair and all the horror which inundated his every waking breath, he found that he would not be left to waft alone in such suffocating air. He'd believed then (as he did now) that he was the furthest he could ever be from solace, that drowning was inevitable, that his lungs weren't strong enough to breathe through the pain which rushed from grief and the look of powerlessness. And then, in front of his face, as she'd always been, somebody offered her own. Somebody took him by the warmth of her self-effacing embrace and the promise of her presence at his cold and lonely side.

Marinette was now giving that precious gift to his son. But Adrien, he decided, deserved it one thousand times more than he did. Adrien was not a failure nor a villain. Adrien was a hero, and a boy who needed his mother nonetheless.

"Adrien," Gabriel murmured.

"What?" his son growled. Marinette squeezed his hand.

"I wish I hadn't left you in the dark. You might not believe that, but it's true. I felt so alone after your mother fell asleep. I should have...I should have known you would feel that way too. I always took you to be like her, and I thought that would make you strong enough to - well - I don't know exactly." Gabriel looked to Emilie. One could _hardly_ see the all-too-slow and all-too-shallow movement of her chest. It could only be made out when it was searched for. "I didn't want you to be in my place. I didn't want you to know the truth. Maybe I believed it would hurt more to know. Knowing, I can assure you, is a terrible burden. This promise is a terrible burden. I could have never hoped for you to hinge your faith on it."

Adrien didn't respond with more than a side-glance. By the look of it, the anger was slowly dying in his face, but Gabriel's miraculous still felt hot.

"Had I known it would take this long, maybe I would have said something. But I cannot say for sure."

"What promise?" asked Adrien softly.

"What?"

"You said, 'This promise is a burden'. What promise?"

"To bring her back, Adrien," answered Gabriel. He'd thought that was clear.

His son looked back up into the glass. The pair of butterflies had circled back around and came to rest above Emilie's chest. "Did she know you would do this? Become Hawkmoth?"

Gabriel hesitated to answer, fearful of inciting another surge of rage in his son. At last, he admitted, "She asked me to. It is the only way."

Adrien's face suddenly appeared quite vacant. As he stared at his mother, Marinette blinked at Gabriel, and then at Nooroo. Nooroo, with a flap of his wings, nodded at her solemnly. Gabriel knew what he was communicating: Yes, it's true.

Several minutes passed in total wordlessness, Adrien gazing up at Emilie, Marinette clinging to his arm, Gabriel to the side putting in all the effort it took not to crumble to his knees. The kwamis exchanged frequent glances among each other. The ladybug and the cat appeared far more distraught than Nooroo, who would only eye them back with something grim and otherwise empty in his visage.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Adrien rose to his feet, startling those butterflies on the capsule back into their graceful flight. He watched them go.

Marinette turned her partner's face to look at her, and kept her hand on his cheek for a moment as he leaned into her palm. Her blue eyes were sympathetic but firm. "Adrien," she whispered, hardly loud enough for Gabriel to hear. "What do you want to do?"

This startled him. "What? Me? How am I supposed to know?" His gaze flitted about, not knowing what to land on, and his words similarly stuttered out of his clumsy mouth before he could manage to continue. "Y-y-you're the one who always has the answers!"

Her tone was guilty. "I know, I know, but this is a choice that I can't make. We've been fighting for months and months and months to keep this power from falling into the wrong hands, but it - it's your mother on the line. I know that shouldn't change anything, but I can't help but feel that it does." Her gaze traveled over Adrien's shoulder to find Gabriel watching them patiently, silently, powerlessly. "When your dad showed me this last night, I became so overwhelmed with thoughts of you, Adrien. You're one of my closest friends. I've...I've always wanted to be closer. How could I decide your mom's fate? Why should that rest in my hands? Why should anything like that? _Shit_," she cursed, and her eyes became wet, her voice broke. She lifted her hands to her face and sighed, trying to tame her distress, and then she continued. "If things were different it would be so clear! I could say no. I could say no. But...but you have somebody right now, upstairs, who has said she is willing to give herself for this cause." Gabriel tensed, a deep, wide pang being sent through his heart, nearly wrenching it apart. Adrien, too, went totally stiff, his head turning in the direction of the lift. Marinette went on, "She's so sick, though, how are we to tell that she's even thinking straight? But then, do we refuse, let your mother die and let Nathalie die and let all of this fall apart because we thought all this time that it had to be the right thing? I - I don't know, Adrien! And it's not my choice to make. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but this has to be up to _you_." As she finished, she took Adrien's hands again, and let a tear fall drip from her jawline to the grass beneath their feet.

Adrien was motionless for well over a minute, and all the emotion Gabriel had felt storm through his miraculous went eerily dead. A calm washed over him, and finally, his eyes started to drift. They went first to his mother, to her soft, vacant smile, which when warm and full had shed brightness upon his darkest days; to her arms laid over her middle, the arms that had held him close when he was low; to her feet which danced through the mansion day and night because she was restless and active and could fill all its empty space with her energy. Forever, now, those things had been absent. They were things he had desperately missed, things he soon found beyond the walls where she had shared her cheerful love with him.

He looked next to his kwami, the black cat, who upon seeing the look in his face, flattened his ears against the top of its head. Beside him, the ladybug pled wordlessly with Marinette, who did not even turn her eyes to regard her.

"Adrien," said the black cat, inching toward his holder, disliking what he saw in the boy's reflective countenance.

Gabriel's son turned his body from Marinette, raised his right hand to his left, fingers on his bright silver ring. "Plagg, I'm sorry."

"Adrien-!"

The ring was off, glinting in the golden lights in the palm of Adrien's hand. He glanced at Marinette.

"Tikki," she addressed her own kwami, who looked on defiantly. "You understand, right?"

The ladybug was rigid and resistant, but begrudgingly she murmured, "I don't. But I trust you, Marinette."

The earrings were off.

Adrien took them, brushed at Marinette's bangs in reassurance while the tears continued to slide quietly down her cheeks.

"Father," he then said, stern, commanding, _familiar_, appearing tall and confident and angry and pitying, "For _once_, make the right choice." He stood before Gabriel and closed the miraculous the the palm of his father's hand.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

His wrist was killing him. At the front of the atelier, he clenched and unclenched his fist to alleviate the soreness in his fingers. His pinkie cracked every time he moved it. A brilliantly clear sky granted the passage of frosty moonlight unto his tired form. Doused in silver, he found his mind a haze, slow and overworked, all its images bleeding together like the iridescent rainbow reflecting off of black oil. The marble floor gleamed under his shoeless feet. His eyelids were heavy, beckoning darkness.

The sound of the door opening behind him drew him only slightly out of the fog. The room was dark, he hadn't turned on the lights since the sun had descended on the other side of the house, and so he could not watch the newcomer through the glass before his eyes. But he knew whose slender, perfect hand had reached to hold a glass of wine in front of his face.

Gabriel took it wordlessly, turning his head to look at her. Her blonde waves were loose and landed between her shoulder blades, the moonlight catching on their natural shine, turning them to white gold. As she raised her own glass to her lips, emerald eyes peered over the rim through the window, and then, as she swallowed, flicked to him.

"Busy day, Gabriel?" she asked. Sometimes, at night, the clear, musical register of her voice took on a low and sultry quality. He remembered the first few times he heard it, how it turned his bones to ice and his heart to fire.

He nodded slowly at her. "Quite." An arm fell over her shoulders and pulled her close, before he planted a kiss on the top of her head and then released her. "I've been drawing since ten this morning. I've hardly taken a break at all. I might have ruined my hand."

"Yes, but I love it when you work in a fervor like that. It's exciting," she said.

"It's absolutely exhausting as well. When I'm going, I feel as though I could never stop. But I must stop, and when I do, well-" He held up his glass. "I feel too out of sorts for even this."

She smiled, the silver light glinting off her pearl-white teeth. She dropped her head on his shoulder, reached down and took his free hand. "If you ask me, it's what you need most right now."

"What, what's wrong?"

"You're tense." She looked into his face, her eyes blazing. "Don't burn out on me again, love. The night is young."

"What time is it?"

"Nine. I've put Adrien to bed. I told him good night for you."

"Should I go up?"

"He was practically asleep by the time I was leaving." She squeezed his hand and started to gently pull him to the center of the room. Gabriel went, as he always did, and allowed himself a sip of the wine. He found it pleasantly tart.

"You have boundless energy, my love," he told her. "It's one of many things I envy."

"I sure hope it's contagious," she remarked. She pushed some hair off his forehead. "Though eleven hours of work isn't something to disregard."

"I would hope not."

"I'm proud of you." She watched as he sat himself on the white leather sofa. "Can I ask, what spurred it on today?"

"I wish I knew. I woke up and the only thing I could think to do was draw. I must have more designs than I know what to do with by now."

"Anything for me?" she asked, eyes sparkling.

"Always something for you."

She beamed and sat beside him, tucking herself under his arm. "That's something we have in common. _Mania_." She chuckled faintly, bringing the rim of her glass back to her lips.

"It seems you can survive it better than I."

A minute passed of silence in which they both took a few slow sips of wine. Gabriel perched his glass on his knee, noticed his eyes falling closed. Her hair against his jaw was soft and cool, the warmth of her body pressed against his own relieving. For the first time that day, he felt perfectly still and free. The cloud that had been busying his head started to clear away the closer and closer he drifted towards sleep.

Yes, he was thinking, his mind working through the stretch of peace to sort through his murky recollection of the day. There was certainly something for her. Something gold, with accents of blue and green, a gown which glittered as she moved and moved like it was made of water. It had been one of the first things he had drawn that day, and he'd bothered to draw her face as well because the dress had gone so well with her eyes. She was a walking jewel, smooth and perfect, colorful and rich, and most importantly his. She walked out of the darkness of the atelier, the gown hugging her body and pooling at her feet, a ray of golden light there to burn amidst the cold of silver and shadow.

The dream dissolved when the quick peck of her lips against his cheek caused him to open his eyes.

"Mmhmm?" he hummed, turning a bit towards her.

"You're not falling asleep are you?"

"I can't help it," he mumbled.

"Well, don't drop your glass." She removed it from his precarious grip and set it on the table beside her. She sat on her knees now, gazing at him with a vibrant energy in her eyes. "Stay awake for me."

"I don't know if I can."

"Try. Here." She took the palm-sized remote sitting on the table and clicked the center button. The stereo in the wall came to life, something Gabriel always forgot to use, and the atelier was quickly filled with piano music. Slow, somber notes floated smoothly past his ears. She rose to her feet, taking his hand. "Let's dance, darling. Like we used to do."

He made no protest as she pulled him up and set her arms around his neck. His hands found her waist, he gazed down into her lively eyes, which stared back from beneath heavy black lashes.

"What has you so spirited tonight?" he wondered, following her slow and steady lead.

"I have an idea. I've been doing research."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, and I'm quite thrilled about it. I've been following breadcrumbs for years now. They've hardly gotten me anywhere." She paused to spin around, the chiffon blouse she was wearing flaring out, and then she laughed. Oh, how he loved her laugh. "It was all mythology and art, things everybody collectively takes to be metaphorical. Didn't exactly give me anything concrete to hold on to."

He was nodding along. He adored how the music melted under her voice.

"But I started researching other parts of the world. I went far east. Get this." Here, her movements swayed to a gentle stop and she elevated herself on her toes so she was almost at his eye level. Green flames flared in her irises. "One hundred and sixty-five years ago, a temple in Tibet vanished. Completely. And the monks who inhabited it disappeared along with it."

Gabriel, who was fighting off both his exhaustion and the captivating passion in her eyes, cocked his head at her. "A temple?"

She nodded.

"Vanished?"

She nodded once more.

He started to guide her back into a absent-minded sway. In the thoughtful quiet between them, the song swelled, and then it dropped, and the notes quickened. He asked, "Could it have simply been buried by an avalanche?"

She shook her head. "No way. Believe me, I asked the same question. There was no evidence something like that had occurred. They found ash," she added, "But no wreckage. No human remains. Nothing."

He considered this for a moment. "So, what does this mean for you?"

"It means I'm going to Tibet."

He tossed back his head at this. "Another one of your mysterious trips, then? You know, Adrien is starting to question me. Don't you think you should be coming up with more specific excuses?"

"Has he questioned you? Funny, he hasn't come to me."

"He's too polite." Gabriel drew her closer until he held her in an embrace. She set her chin on his shoulder and he looked into the soft gleam of her hair while his eyes fluttered open and closed. "Just tell me when, love. I'll ensure it makes it on a calendar."

"Gabriel," she whispered, and his arms tightened around her waist, "Why don't you come with me this time?" She ran her fingers through his hair, something which always relaxed him. He leaned his head against hers.

"Would you like me to?" he asked, voice a whisper.

"Yes, darling, we'll say we're going on vacation. That can be our excuse."

"To Tibet?"

"Why not?" She traced a finger down the back of his neck, sending a shiver through his body. She laughed. Her laughter crescendoed as the music did. It sounded like gold. "You've always said you would travel to the ends of the earth for me. Well, now you're going to mean it literally."

"Implying I didn't already?"

"I know you did." She kissed his jaw, and then his mouth. It was long and hungry, they always were when she was feeling this high, like she could never have enough, like she was trying to taste her dreams and her wonder. Her head was filled with vision, her heart with diamonds, her spirit with stars. She was every beautiful thing that had a name, and Gabriel could not begin to fathom how he had wound up holding all of those things in his arms at once.

She pulled away, inhaling deeply. He gazed tenderly down into her face. Moonlight revealed the flush of her cheeks, the angle of her brow. She was mad, he thought, wholly and splendidly mad. She put sense to shame. She was pure light, purer than fire, than sun. She made love into something shiny and hot to the touch.

She whispered, "Let's rule the world."

He told her, "You already rule mine."

The music was replaced by a tense and fragile silence.

They crashed together.

* * *

The miraculous burned into his skin and burned into his eyes as gazed breathless and frozen down into his palm. Gabriel's heart thumped with deep and heavy throbs beneath his brooch, which suddenly, as he was staring, ceased to alert him of emotion. He was too shocked to feel it.

Nooroo was directly in front of his face, hovering at eye level, also peering into his hand while every few seconds, his gaze flicked up to Gabriel's rigid expression. "Master," he prompted at last, breaking the silence, causing Gabriel to finally rip his eyes away from the jewelry.

"Nooroo…"

"What are you going to do, master?"

"I…" His mouth fell closed. Behind the kwami, Adrien and Marinette watched him, their hands intertwined, their cheeks wet with the tears that had since fallen. Gabriel searched for regret in either of their faces but only saw anticipation and, quite unhelpfully, sheer uncertainty. Neither of them could guess his decision any better than he knew it then. He could only see how tight they held onto the other, how dark and how glassy their eyes were. Marinette was standing with straight shoulders, her chin raised. Finally, she must have been thinking, it isn't up to me anymore. Finally, this isn't my fight. At her side, Adrien's poise faltered, he looked from his father to his mother's face, and found her equally difficult to see, so he closed his eyes instead. Still, Gabriel noted, nothing that demanded the ring back, nothing that wished this choice was his.

He could hear Emilie's voice – suddenly, he remembered exactly its sound – hear the chime of her question, asking him what he was waiting for. But her eyes had been shut for two dozen moons and she couldn't see what he was seeing, couldn't feel the things he had felt before he had gone suddenly numb to everything but the awareness of her lying there, and the means to get her back in his grasp.

Listening, he heard the whispers of things she would say if she was able. _You promised_, came the hiss at the back of his mind. _How dare you hesitate?_

How _dare _he hesitate?

He promised. He loved her.

He told himself (but surely it was her voice which tolled between the two twin storms of blood in his ears), he had to.

He'd come this far, after every excruciating failure, and following nearly them all, he had come to her, said "I'm sorry.

"I'm sorry it's taking so long."

What will she say when he tells her the story?

Two years of desperate fighting. Eleven hours of manic work, and then, all she had was, "Let's dance."

But did it matter? - he looked into his palm. It could be over right now. For fuck's sake, why was he such a coward?

_Enough, _she said.

_Do it. _

_Now._

Gabriel's hand trembled uncontrollably as he took the ring between his thumb and index finger and slipped it onto his opposite hand. The black cat re-emerged, his narrow green eyes keying into Gabriel's face and scowling with frigid animosity. He didn't introduce himself. He crossed his arms and turned away, a growl in his throat.

Next he pressed the the ladybug miraculous through his ear lobes - it took a moment to find the holes, as it had been a long time since he had worn earrings - but as soon as they were in place, Gabriel gasped and fell to his knees. He felt something like electricity, only slower and colder, surge from his head and his hands down the length of his entire body. He continued to tremble, no more from dread but from the power now seeping into his bloodstream. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adrien take a step towards him. Digging his hands into the grass, Gabriel lifted his head, with great effort, to look up at Emilie.

"Oh _fuck_," he cursed, struggling to force the words passed his gritted teeth. "_Is this what you wanted_?"

_This is what you promised._

_Stay awake for me. _

The ladybug and black cat kwamis drifted into sight, obscuring his view of the capsule. The ladybug spoke. "It might hurt less if you remove the butterfly," she informed him, unmoved.

Gabriel's eyes searched frantically for Nooroo before spotting him just inches away from the other two. "No. He stays," was his response.

Nooroo titled his head.

The ladybug shrugged. "Whatever you say, Gabriel Agreste. My name is Tikki, and this is Plagg." She gestured to the black cat kwami at her side, who still refused to look at Gabriel directly. "We'll help you grant your wish."

His eyes fell from them and landed between his hands still clutching at the ground. The ring was silver, and beneath his shadow, it just barely glinted in the golden light.

"As you know, the powers combined of the ladybug and cat miraculous makes you powerful enough to fulfill one reality-altering desire," the ladybug explained, the edge in her voice being the only thing which compelled Gabriel to listen to her.

Emilie. This is what Emilie asked of him. This is what he promised her so long ago. And he would do anything for her. _Anything_.

"When you are ready, you will say, 'Tikki, Plagg, unify.'"

He loved her. He needed her. Everything has been so empty since she left. This was the only way. The only way for everything to be whole again. The only way to fix...

"Be warned, the universe will remain in balance despite the wish you make, meaning there is an equal price for your power."

...what was broken.

_Nathalie_.

"If you wish to gain, you will also lose. If you wish to lose, you will also gain."

_She's alone. _

He felt like he was turning to ice, and yet the fury in his blood ate away at him from the inside out. He raised his head to Adrien, whose anger was gone, whose leaf green eyes were so much like Emilie's, yet nothing like hers at all.

"We are at your service, Gabriel Agreste."

Nothing like hers at all.

Because they were begging:

Don't.

This isn't what I want.

"Whenever you're ready."

_This is what _you _want. _

He lifted his hand - it felt heavy as solid steel - to his chest, grappling for the butterfly brooch. He couldn't feel anything. He couldn't feel Nathalie. Or Adrien. The other miraculous were too strong; they were drowning them out, unless they were already gone, unless they had been lost long before those miraculous were placed in his palm; they were suffocating him, and all he wanted was to feel through Adrien's heart and breathe through Nathalie's lungs. His chest burned and ached and stung and his ribs felt like they were breaking apart.

"_No!_"

Gabriel ripped the ring off of his finger, barked in pain at the cold that tore through his skin as its power left him. He dug the earrings out of his lobes and tossed them into the grass. Tikki and Plagg vanished. His fist clenched over the brooch. He tried to stand, he wobbled, he fell back to his knees. Weakness and shock clutched his body. He trembled madly.

"Nooroo," he gasped, and the lavender kwami, with his gently flapping wings, descended to touch his hand to Gabriel's forehead. "Nooroo, this isn't what she asked of me. This couldn't be what she asked of me."

No response, just an empathetic gaze.

"Father." Adrien's voice sounded awfully close, and then he felt his son's hand on his shoulder, there to steady him.

_This couldn't be what she asked of me_. It bled into his thoughts, into his memories, It led him like a current through the last two years, landed him back at her side as she was going, and she whispered, "_Promise you'll bring me back_.

"_Promise you'll bring me back_.

"_I don't care what it takes._

"_This is the only way_.

"_It'll fix everything._"

He reached for his son's hand.

How? he wondered, and he found through the anguish in his mind the will to elevate his head so he looked directly into Emilie's face. How could this fix everything? How could this fix everything when the very act of doing so would break something else?

He had already destroyed so much just trying to get here.

And somehow, he had to find it in his ravaged heart to surrender even more?

"I can't do it," he said. Adrien's grip on his shoulder tightened.

"Father…"

Once he may have loved her enough to let everything else burn.

It terrified him.

"Adrien." He rose shakily to his feet, pulled his son into his arms and held him. Adrien was stiff in his embrace, but he didn't move. A moment passed. Another. Eventually, he hugged his father back, buried his head into his shoulder.

"I can't do it," Gabriel repeated. "I can't bring her back."

Adrien was speechless and he cried quietly. He turned his head and looked at Marinette, who had retrieved both her earrings and Adrien's ring and stood apart from them, her expression quite solemn, her blue eyes dull and exhausted.

Fuck, they were all _so tired_.

Gabriel pulled away, he gazed into Adrien's face, into those emerald eyes. "I'm sorry, son."

"She's been gone for a while, hasn't she?"

"I never wanted to lose you."

"I'm...I'm still here."

They hugged tighter, as if trying to convince the other their words were true. Gabriel's throat closed and he felt, for the second time that night, the fast approach of tears, and this time, he did not attempt to hide them. Something dark and ancient and dense in his heart gave way, and he released a ragged sob which shook his whole body.

Adrien was the first to let go, and he didn't do it without hesitation. He stumbled back, breathing deeply, his eyes still on his father. When Marinette approached to hand him his miraculous, he took it without a word, slipped it back onto his right hand, and fell immediately under Marinette's arm.

He turned his head to regard Emilie. "Does this mean…?"

Another stab of anguish sank into Gabriel's chest. "I'm so sorry, Adrien."

"What do we do?"

Gabriel couldn't give an answer, not with the knot in his throat. He found himself looking to Nooroo.

The butterfly kwami gave the saddest, gentlest, most honest smile that he had ever seen from him. He floated close to Gabriel's head, his little voice a compassionate coo as he murmured, "Oh, master. Do not torment yourself anymore." His gaze landed on Emilie. "In her, there is nothing to feel. Her lungs may breathe, but she is long gone."

Gabriel asked breathlessly, "And that is all?"

"That is all."

Frozen still, he listened for the tolling for her voice in his mind, detected the echoes of those whispers. He focused on Nooroo's words, tried to strip away the music of her voice so it became his own, but he could still hear her. He hoped one day he might be able to believe the kwami's calm and generous reassurance.

"Nooroo," His hand reached and took the butterfly in his palm, who stared up at him with round, surprised eyes. "Thank you. For everything."

"Master…"

He removed the brooch from his chest and place it into Nooroo's arms. "And please forgive me."

Gabriel received a compassionate smile.

To Marinette, he gave the miracle box and the grimoire, when they had turned their backs to the garden and the butterflies and traveled up the lift back into the dark atelier. The house was still and quiet, and as Gabriel set the golden portrait back over the vault door, he tried not to feel its eyes on him. Marinette, having transformed back into Ladybug, took the box with a nod of her head.

"I don't know what to say about taking it. I feel like sorry does not suffice," he told her.

She placed Nooroo's brooch in where it belonged, and the kwami, in a trail of pale light, disappeared into it. "I would not know how to respond, so it's probably best you say nothing."

Gabriel unclenched his fist to reveal the peacock miraculous. Instead of setting in in the box, he placed it in Ladybug's hand. "I know you're new to the guardianship, but I hope you'll be able to find a way to fix it."

"I do as well."

"And please," he added, the strain in his voice too strong to mask, "if there is anything you can do to help Nathalie, I implore you to try."

"You have to Marinette," Adrien added desperately, clutching her shoulder.

Ladybug placed the broken brooch in the box, gazing at it for a moment before shutting the lid. "Of course. I'll see what I can do."

"As quickly as you can." Gabriel glanced towards the atelier door, heart racing anxiously.

"I know. I'll search through all the information I have. I know there's a way to fix the miraculous, so there's got to be a way to heal the damage it causes to others, at least before…" she paused here, looking at Emilie's portrait behind Gabriel's head and then between her feet, "…they can't be healed. I'll go now. There's not much time to waste."

Adrien was the one who saw her out, and a couple minutes later, Gabriel watched her whisk away into the city from where he stood at the front window. The front door closed out in the foyer.

"Adrien."

His call fell on deaf ears. Footsteps on marble stairs created at rigid echo through the silence of night and absence of ghosts. They paused somewhere on the second floor, and Gabriel knew his son stood in the hallway, his eyes on Nathalie's door.

"Adrien," he called once more.

Those footsteps went on, and his heart sank upon the closing of a bedroom door. It took considerable effort to keep himself from falling with it to the floor.

He felt only half-alive.

And this was only the beginning.

Gabriel's hand reached for his chest, but all his fingers brushed against was the fabric of his shirt. They curled into a fist, searching for something to hold aside from empty air.

_Goodbye, Nooroo_.

Alone with no one's feelings but his own, he stood like stone for several minutes, trying to survive the loneliness of his own heartbeat, and found, almost to disbelief, that he did.

Gabriel stepped away from the window, forced his feet towards the atelier door, towards Nathalie, towards the life he couldn't sense if he tried. It was the life that needed him. His fingers closed over the door handle.

The rain had stopped and the clouds had parted. Moonlight streamed through the window like a wind of silver.

Something beckoned him to turn his head just slightly to the left.

He refused.

* * *

**I'll see you soon. **

**For the last chapter. **

**;)**

**~ Lullaby**


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

"Hey, kitty."

Chat Noir looked over his shoulder and smiled at his lady. Her pretty blue gaze gleamed at him from behind her mask. It was a gaze he knew just as well on another lovely face, and which, in the blink of an eye, he could no longer separate from the one he received so pleasantly now. And there was no reason to. "Hiya, bugaboo."

She sat beside him, dangling her legs off the rooftop ledge where she found him. She held a narrow box on her lap, which she opened upon his prompt, to reveal a row of shiny macarons.

"You're the best, m'lady."

He popped one into his mouth whole and leaned back on his hands, holding his face up to sun. The day was warm but breezy, and he enjoyed the heat of the light on his cheeks.

Beside him, Ladybug nibbled at her own macaron, watching him with a faint smile on her lips. Upon seeing him swallow, she asked him gently, "How are you doing, Adrien?"

One of his eyes opened just to glance at her, and then shut once more against the glare of the sun. A long sigh passed through him, and Ladybug placed her hand on top of his in comfort. "As well as I can be."

"Are you sleeping any better?"

"Much better. Still not very great, though."

"I understand. Neither can I."

He let his head fall to the side. She took his chin in her grip and pressed a kiss to his cheek, which he couldn't resist smiling at, but almost as quickly as it stretched across his mouth, it faded again. "I'll be okay, though."

"Are you up to talk about the situation?" she asked hesitantly, stressing the word "situation", not wanting to specify it unless he agreed to the discussion.

Chat Noir tossed another macaron into his mouth, which he slowly chewed and swallowed before answering. Ladybug was patient. "Yeah. I am."

She dipped her head and removed the box from her lap, setting it on her other side. She turned to face him completely. "Alright. Well, you kind of have an idea of how I feel about this. I think something needs to be done. If Master Fu was here, I'm sure he would agree."

"Master Fu isn't here."

"No, but we don't exactly have a lot of opinions to work with. Adrien, look at me, please. I know this is hard." He raised his eyes to her face. "It's only been a couple weeks. It's okay if you're not ready. We can take care of this on your own time."

"Just because I disagree with you, doesn't mean I'm not ready." He drew an index finger over the back of her hand and released another, even longer sigh. "Marinette, you were there. You saw how awful it was."

"I know."

"I'm sorry, but I think it was punishment enough."

A flock of birds passed over the street, and Chat Noir listened to their shrill chirping, glaring between the sky and ground. Pedestrians walked with shopping bags or briefcases or families. Some of them looked happy. Some of them looked normal. And he felt neither. He drew his legs up from the ledge and hugged them to chest, setting his chin on his knees.

Ladybug brushed away the hair that had fallen in front of his eyes. She pulled herself closer to him and leaned her head on his arm, following his gaze and sweeping her own over the movement of Parisians below them. They were all so unassuming, so unaware of the thunder roaring in the heads of the heroes who watched them from above, who had less of a reason to than ever before.

Chat Noir finally said, "He gave up, Ladybug."

"He stole the miracle box - out of my bedroom."

"You _agreed_ to give the bastard your miraculous."

"He threatened to time travel."

"You didn't believe him, did you?"

"Oh, I don't know! Hindsight is unreliable." She blew out an exasperated breath between her lips, making her bangs flutter. "Here's what I know. He surrendered, yes, and it was a terrible, terrible experience, but that doesn't erase his actions over the last two years, does it? All of those akumatizations? All of those people he hurt?"

Chat Noir didn't reply. There came the click of his teeth as he hardened his jaw.

"I'm so sorry," she murmured, "I couldn't begin to imagine what this was like for you, Adrien. Among other things, to find out your father was Hawkmoth, that Nathalie was Mayura must have been devastating. I'm here for you, as your friend and your partner and as the girl who loves you. But I'm also here for Paris. It can't sit right with me, as their defender, to deny them justice."

Below them, a child screamed with glee, a dog barked. Birds once again took to flight over their heads.

"They'll forget," he said.

"Chat-"

"Marinette," he turned to her, and he managed to give her a smile because he wanted her to know he meant what he said, "You always do the right thing. It's incredible." She blinked at him. "You know, I'd wondered a couple times if you were Ladybug before shit hit the fan, because now and then it made so much sense. You seemed like a hero in your everyday life, and I couldn't begin to tell you how much I admired that. I always will." He kissed the top of her head, and then his smile faltered. "You're a good person, surrounded by good people, trying to do what's best for a good city. That's not what I'm trying to do. I'm trying to deal with something broken. And it's been broken for a really long time. I don't know if it could ever be fixed."

She listened solemnly, intently. Her hand was on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"I'm angry, you know. So angry that sometimes I don't even know what to do with myself. When I can't sleep, I feel angry enough to tell the world, but I don't want this to be about spite. I know it isn't the 'right thing' to let my father go free. At this point, I can't imagine that anything that tries to stop my family from completely falling apart can be the right thing."

"Adrien…"

"We were doomed to fall apart. All my life has been learning to let go when other people couldn't." He gazed at her, stroked a finger down her jawline. "M'lady, you're the only thing I've ever held on to. It's selfish of me to want to keep them, but I'm through with giving up. I'm not letting them go. Not now, not when I've already lost so much."

"My kitty," she sighed. "I love you."

"I love you, Marinette."

"Are you absolutely sure about this?"

He nodded his head ardently. Upon seeing the reluctance in her face, his eyes drifted off to the side, to the sea of billowing ice-white clouds on the horizon, beaming with the sunlight. "M'lady, one day, if the world finds out the truth somehow, they can do what they want with it. I won't fight them. But just for now…" He pressed her hand, took a deep breath. "Just for now, let it be."

She cupped his face. "I will, Adrien. For you. You know you mean the world to me? You always have. Every side of you."

A swell of warmth eased a little of his current grief. He said quietly, "Thank you."

She kissed him on the mouth, softly, sweetly, all too briefly. When she pulled away, she offered him the box of macarons. "Let me know if you want anything else from the bakery. I'll bring it around ASAP."

"You're incredible."

She smiled, spun her yo-yo around her finger with mock arrogance. "Yeah, I'm pretty much the best. It's my brand."

It made him laugh. She hadn't heard him laugh in a long time. She never wanted to hear anything else.

* * *

_How's it going, fanboy?_

Adrien stared down at his phone, the message that had brought his screen to life returning his tentative gaze. After a handful of seconds, it faded away.

"Oh yeah, that girl," Plagg mumbled around the mouthful of Camenbert he had just bitten off the wedge he held between his arms.

"I feel bad for ditching her," said Adrien, closing his hand over the phone, but he didn't activate it; his hand paused on the desk.

"It was a wild day," offered Plagg sympathetically.

Adrien flinched when the phone vibrated with the alert of a second message. _We got ur card._

It was just a thank you note penned, he assumed rather impersonally, by his father, both as a way to express due gratitude as well as to curb any extensive questions about Adrien and Nathalie's sudden and premature departure. _I apologize they had to leave so quickly without informing you. Nathalie had fallen ill,_ Adrien had read when he'd chosen to sign the note. His heart and leaped into his throat. Ill didn't even seem like it sufficed.

He unlocked his phone and reread the messages, his fingers hovering over the keys. "I don't know how to tell her there won't be anymore Hawkmoth and Mayura."

"How would you know about that, random boy citizen?" asked Plagg with a little jab to Adrien's temple.

"I suppose I wouldn't." He started typing, deleted, typed again, deleted once more, and then finally wrote, _I'm good. Sorry I've been quiet. Just have a lot going on. Glad to hear u received the note. Tell ur mom and brothers hello_.

Noella's response came rather quickly. _Will do! How's Nathalie?_

He could have said so much. Instead, he simply replied, _Better._

_Good to hear. Keep in touch, ok?_

_U got it._

He tossed his phone back on the desk and glanced at Plagg, and the kwami, reading the pain in his holder's face, slowly pushed the rest of the cheese in his mouth and chewed it slowly.

"You're so gross."

Plagg swallowed. "What's the matter, kid?"

"Should I feel bad?" he asked, propping his head up on his elbow. Plagg stared at him, and he elaborated, "Noella was super friendly. That whole family was nice to be around, and I liked them, I did, but...I don't know. I kind of wish I could forget them. I wish I could forget that entire week."

"That's not gonna be easy."

"No, it's not." His voice was more emotional than he wished it to be, but there was no way to hide to misery completely. "All I'm going to be reminded of when I think about them is how hard everything is now. And that wouldn't be so bad if I could talk to them about it. But I can't. I can't tell anyone anything but the people who were there and the fact that they were there…" He leaned forward and rubbed his eye with the base of his hand. "Plagg, I feel so alone."

"You're not."

"I know. But that doesn't help the _feeling_."

Plagg's touch fell on his ear, shifted his head to view him out of the corner of his vision. He could register the somber intensity flaring out of those scar-shaped eyes even as he couldn't bring himself to look into them directly. "One day, it will," Plagg said. "One day, it's gonna hurt less. I'm sure it already does, right? That night, when everything changed; you're never going to feel that hopeless ever again. I can promise that."

"I believe it."

"It doesn't sound like much. I get that." Plagg was so close that Adrien could smell the cheese on his breath, but he didn't recoil. He wanted Plagg near. "But even it's slowly, things will get better. And you do have people to talk to. You have Marinette. You have me. You'll always have me."

"I know, Plagg."

"At the beginning and the end of every day, you're my Chat Noir. And I'm your Plagg. That's something that will never change."

Adrien wiped the moisture from his eyes and laughed. "Geez, Plagg, when did you get so sappy?"

The kwami jerked back, a familiar pride returning to his face as he crossed his arms and huffed. "Sappy? No way. I'm just being honest."

"When did you get honest?"

Plagg grumbled. "Oh, why don't I lie then?" He made a dramatic shrug of his shoulders. "Adrien, you're just okay. And I don't even like you that much. And your hair is dumb." A wink and a cheeky grin. "That better?"

Adrien raised his hands and let Plagg come to rest between them. "Doesn't matter. I know you're saying 'I love you' either way."

Plagg made a fake vomiting noise.

Behind the kwami, Adrien's computer screen continued to display the image of himself and his mother. His eyes drifted to the portrait, gazed for multiple moments at his mother's smile, her bright and open eyes as she peered at the camera while her son rested on her shoulder.

For a lightning-quick moment, he could understand. There must have been a piece of him, small as a shard of glass that would be willing to do anything to have her there at his side again, even if he couldn't feel it as strongly as he could feel the fear he harbored towards that wanting spirit. He'd seen more closely and more clearly than anybody what that kind of love can do. And yet, it existed. Even now.

The angle of sunlight was sharpening, and in a few long, uncertain hours Adrien would find himself staring up at his ceiling into the same familiar darkness as the nights when he tried to search for his mother in the black empty space. He was confronting new memories and new questions, and he didn't know if he was ready for the answers.

He wondered why she used the peacock miraculous. He wondered why she didn't stop. He wondered if she knew coming back would turn a city upside down. He wondered if she knew coming back would kill somebody else. He wondered if she considered that person could be him, could be his father, could be anyone at all and it didn't matter who. He wondered if coming that close to death would have stopped her. He wondered if she was someone worth stopping. He wondered if he would have to be the one to stop her. He wondered if she would realize, like his father did, that maybe it was best if she had stopped herself.

He wondered if it was cruel to keep her from seeing him ever again.

He wondered if having her back would have made him feel any less alone than he felt now.

He wondered if he loved her enough.

Plagg had left him for a moment with his thoughts, and in the meantime had grabbed another chunk of Camenbert to begin working on. When Adrien was finally capable of wrenching his eyes away, Plagg approached once more and looked affectionately between the computer screen and his holder.

"You know, kid, I think she'd be proud of you."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't know her." Plagg sat himself on the mouse, placing the cheese in his lap. "But I know she loved you. And you know it too."

Adrien's smile was faint. He patted Plagg between the ears with two fingers.

His phone vibrated once more, and upon reading the message, that small smile broke into a grin. He showed Plagg, who squinted into the light. "What do you think? Should I go for it?"

"If you ask me, it sounds like a plan." Plagg tossed the wedge of cheese into his mouth, rising to follow Adrien out of his room. He added, words slurring thickly as he paused his frantic chewing, "Assuming the pattern continues, that is."

"I think we'll have our luck."

Adrien found his father in the dining room, a tablet between his elbows and his head pivoted to look out the window as shadows crawled further up the front walls. Rarely in these last couple weeks did Adrien find Gabriel in his office, and he understood. His mother's impressive portrait still hung on the back wall, overseeing the entire room. It was impossible to ignore. Emilie was gone, but her mark on the house remained and would remain even after the reminders of her were gone. Adrien lifted his gaze to the family portrait hanging above the fireplace behind his father's back. Many of those reminders, he was sure, would stay.

Gabriel's stone-like stare flicked to Adrien and seemed to darken with acknowledgement. The truth was, Adrien was still furious. To be anything less was almost inconceivable when every confrontation between them over the last multiple days brought about memories of their battles. Adrien was followed by the fights where he faced Hawkmoth, father and son behind the mask, and with them, no less than enemies. Gabriel hadn't known, and Adrien accepted whatever consolation he could land on, but from now on, their history had teeth. Covering scars did not erase them. Adrien's skin crawled with the memories bursting out of his mind, memories he had told Ladybug he didn't want to let rule them. It was already harder than he imagined.

"Father-" He tried to keep his voice steady, hoped the initial address did not betray his anger; although, was there any point to hiding it beyond trying to fool themselves with the illusion of civility? "Father, my friends are seeing a movie this evening. May I go?"

Gabriel looked at his son for a little too long. His silence prompted Adrien to repeat the question, with a little more stress and a little less patience. He replied, "Who is all going?"

Adrien glanced at the message. "Marinette, Alya, Nino, and Alix."

The tense silence which followed was more of a habit than a stretch of contemplation. It seemed a new pattern was beginning to form, a new routine. Adrien would be invited somewhere with a friend or multiple; he would approach his father and ask to join them; Gabriel would stare as though he was making up his mind, but in reality the choice had been made; he conceded - tersely.

And sure enough: "Yes, you may go."

Adrien thanked his father, as was the last element of the pattern, and bowed out of the room to find his bodyguard.

Every time, that rage he felt upon entering the room, seeing Gabriel's face, it waned, ever so slightly, as much as the moon wanes in a day, and in its place comes a smallest sensation of warmth in his chest. A flame the size of a finger-tip, little but still so bright. Gabriel knew. Gabriel knew that it order to heal, he had to let go, in order to earn his son's trust, he needed to trust him first.

On the way out, he stuck his head back into the dining room. "One more thing, Father?"

"Yes?"

Adrien smiled softly. "Tell Nathalie I left some macarons for her on her desk."

Gabriel nodded. "Of course."

"Have a good night."

"You as well."

Adrien closed the door.

* * *

He watched his son through the dining room window, watched as he never turned his head to look back.

He would have to get used to that.

The car rolled out of the gate and sullenly, Gabriel set aside his tablet. Having heard the door close out in the entrance hall, watch his son, phone in hand, smile on his face leave not to return for several hours, the house really didn't feel all that emptier. And it wasn't because it was easy to watch Adrien go. Gabriel raised his hand, rubbed his fingers against the space below his throat. Even when he couldn't sense any strong emotions, he realized with the butterfly miraculous attached, that there had existed within the brooch, some kind of energy that breathed, that saw, that reached out and touched his surroundings and warmed the air in the room.

It had probably been Nooroo.

He rose to his feet and abandoned the tablet on the dining room table as he traveled to the atelier.

Perhaps, he missed Nooroo.

The thought was merely a quiet suggestion in the back of his head, little more substantial than the delicate movement of a butterfly's wings.

He made quickly for Nathalie's desk upon entering the atelier. Beside her computer was the box of macarons Adrien had left behind, the insignia of the Dupain-Cheng patisserie printed on the lid. Also on her desk was a vial, the contents of which were still, to his uneasiness, raised almost to the cap. He dropped the vial in his pocket, grabbed the box, and turned to leave.

Gabriel met Emilie's eyes across the room and inhaled briskly.

Emilie had been many things over the last two years, but she had never been a ghost. He supposed that was something he would have to get used to as well. After a moment of stillness, he proceeded out to the hall, left her there, frozen in time, as he always did when that door closed behind him.

Gabriel sought Nathalie in her room, the only place he imagined she'd be if not in the office, but when he pushed the door open upon hearing no response to his knock, he found that she wasn't there either. The bed was neatly fixed, the curtains parted to make way for the light slowly gliding towards the horizon. Her robe, which had been washed of her blood and looked new, was laid across an armchair, a pair of slippers perfectly parallel placed below it.

He went to her dresser, to the row of vials arranged in a straight line. The dark glass obscured the sapphire color of the concoction capped within them. At some point, one had been brought to her desk, but she hadn't emptied it, and the day was beginning to close. Gabriel sighed and moved the vials to her bedside table, hoping that upon seeing them first thing when she opened her eyes would remind her to take one sooner.

As he passed by the window on his way of the room, he paused and glanced out at the back garden. There, sitting on a bench and leaning back with her eyes closed, her hands folded neatly on her lap, was Nathalie. He was surprised to see her outside. For the last two weeks, she traveled almost exclusively from the room to the atelier. Most of her time was spent in bed; she'd only gained enough strength to walk without Gabriel feeling like she needed to be watched, and whenever she was too restless to remain in her room, she sat alone at her desk in the atelier and convinced herself he needed her to be useful, when in reality, all he needed was for her to heal.

Gabriel turned away from the window and left the room.

Those two weeks were weighing on her just as much as they were on him. He didn't need a miraculous to know what she was feeling. She used to be a closed book, not easy to detect even while she stood face to face with him. But now it seemed her walls have been torn down, that she didn't have the heart to raise them back up again.

They hadn't spoken much since that night, when he had left the atelier behind him and gone, with a heavy heart, to check on her, make sure, at the very least, that she was still alive. Gabriel had not bothered to knock when he arrived at her door. He pushed the door open silently and made his way through the dark to the side of her bed. Lowered on one knee, he found her hand and clasped it tightly, feeling the hair on his neck rise at the cold of her skin. To his relief, he could hear her breathing in a barbed, uneven rhythm passing through the quiet like the movement of gravel down a jagged slope.

He had hesitated to rouse her, as she needed rest, but a rather loud part of him feared that if he waited a minute longer, she would never wake again. Gabriel turned on the bedside lamp. Her face was angled at him, set rigidly, toned with gray beneath its dull white surface. He squeezed her hand and used his other to brush the hair off her forehead. "Nathalie," he called hoarsely.

It took several tries before she stirred. Her fingers fluttered under his own, and her eyelids opened halfway only to shut once more.

"Nathalie."

And then she turned her head towards the ceiling. Her hand slipped away from his. She began to inhale deeply before her breath caught in her throat and her eyes snapped open. He sat her up as she coughed, rubbed a small circle in her back behind her lungs. She clutched the sheet to her mouth, stifling the ragged, violent noise of her coughing.

Once she had stopped and collected herself, her gaze pierced through empty space, and then, very slowly, shifted to look at him.

"Gabriel?" she asked, wiping a spot of blood from the corner of her mouth, her tone of voice dazed, as though she wasn't certain if he was real. Perhaps she had feared to find out for sure, because her fingertips fell just short of his cheek. To her shock, he grabbed them anyway, and sat himself on the bed right at her side. "Gabriel!" she exclaimed, as loudly as her voice could rise.

"Nathalie," - he trembled as he addressed her - "everything is going to be fine. We're going to find a way to help you."

She hadn't appeared to understand him.

"It's over," he added. "It's all over."

"Over?" Her face was warped, like she was disoriented. The hollow quality to her response seemed to open a vacuum between them. For a moment, Gabriel didn't feel like he was breathing. And she was just inches away from him, but she felt so much further.

"Marinette has the miraculous now. She's going to try and fix the peacock, and she's going to find something that can cure your illness. There has to be a solution," he said. He spoke slowly, wanting her to understand. "I know there's a solution."

At this, her head had fallen a little to the side. "There's no solution."

"There must be."

"Why are you here?" She started blinking rapidly, and he couldn't tell if it was because she was fighting sleep or because she was starting to realize what was going on. Then her head rolled forward, and he realized she was still very out of it. Gabriel gently grabbed her face and lifted it back up, held it a breath away from his own. Her eyelids twitched, struggling to open.

"Nathalie, I didn't make the wish."

"What…?"

"I didn't make the wish," he repeated, clearly, loudly, perhaps too loudly. She jerked away from his voice.

Then she froze, the whites of her eyes became visible. "You didn't…" Now, he could see her irises. She struggled to focus on his face. "You didn't make the…"

There was a wrench of agony through his chest when he said, "Emilie is not coming back."

"You didn't make the wish."

Here, she had finally seemed to emerge into the present. All at once, the weight of his revelation set in, such in the way one responds to gravity. An ice cold breath was sucked in through her teeth, she gazed at him in shock. Pure, static, white shock. If it was possible, she had become even paler, and the room became utterly silent as they both held their breath.

Gabriel had seen more of her than he had ever expected to, but one thing he had never witnessed before this moment was her this speechless, this stunned. Her eyes didn't blink, her face didn't move; when he pressed her hand she didn't respond. For a moment, it was like he was sitting before a work of stone.

He leaned in closer. "Nathalie?"

No reply.

"Nathalie, we're going to help you somehow. You're going to be okay."

Nothing.

"Nathalie, _breathe_."

She obeyed, although her countenance did not alter. Gabriel sighed unsteadily. She wasn't in any state to process this, and she hadn't come across as very sound of mind when he had last left her there. He didn't know what to do or what to say. With pain, he observed the coolness and the whiteness of her skin, the irregularity of her breathing, the weakness with which she held herself. So much of her weight was leaned already on the hand cupping her face. She seemed so fragile, a few movements from shattering apart completely. How had he let this happen? How had he wanted Emilie so much that he let Nathalie carelessly slip through his fingers? A faint sob sprung from his lips. He wanted to turn away from her, but he couldn't bring himself to let her out of his sight. He needed every single second now to be presently reminded that she was still there with him.

"Nathalie," he choked out, "Oh, please, please, I can't lose you too. I need you. You have no idea how much."

He saw the small movement of her lips spreading apart, just barely enough to notice, and then she blinked once. A few times. "Gabriel," she whispered - she sounded horrified - "why?"

Why? All she had to ask was why? He waited for clarification, but she never gave it.

Gabriel had been about to explain himself, when a wave of the pain she had claimed to no longer feel crashed over her and she collapsed against her pillow with a shrill cry. He realized that hours ago - or perhaps _months_ ago - she had accepted death, and decided that the only way for this story to end was for her to not be there to see it. But now there was nowhere to hide. So the pain returned because it was a threat, and it was a threat because it hadn't won after all. Not yet.

Gabriel had taken her in his arms, held her close as she shivered against him, held her after her sobs died and she fell once again into sleep, held her until the early hours of the morning, when he finally succumbed to sleep of his own.

The memory, and it had been a persistent one through the last several days, was shaken away, likely to return. The events of that night came and went in a cycle through his mind, and sometimes, it all would wash over him at once. The best way to survive them was to remind himself that Nathalie and Adrien were still there with them, and he hoped more than anything that they would always stay.

As Gabriel entered the garden, Nathalie greeted him with a weak but polite smile. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, the pieces at the front of her head framing a face now tinged with color in the sunlight. With a subtle nod, she took notice to the box in his hands.

When he reached her, he held it out for her to grab. "This is from Adrien."

"macarons?"

"From the Dupain-Cheng patisserie."

"I figured. Where is he?"

"He went to a movie with his friends."

She nodded solemnly. "I'll have to thank him. This is the third treat this week."

"He wants to make sure you're eating."

Her eyes hardened. She set the box beside her. "Well, I'm trying."

"Trying implies not tossing everything away before taking a bite."

She glanced away, gaze settling on the path. "It's hard."

Gabriel took a seat on the bench, reaching into his pocket to remove the vial he had found on her desk. "Speaking of…" As it was dropped into her palm, her face contorted. Hastily, she closed her fist and drew it to her chest. "Nathalie, you have to take that."

"I know."

"Every day. Every morning."

"It slipped my mind."

He was about to press her further, but his mouth clamped shut. He hadn't come out here to lecture her, and she'd heard plenty of his appeals already. By the time Marinette had showed up at the gate with the bottle of what she called a potion and he preferred to call medicine, Nathalie had been so close to death that he had convinced himself there was no way it would work, and that was even if the girl had somehow produced the right concoction with the little experience she had. Luckily, she had been given a translated version of the grimoire upon being named guardian, which meant it had only taken a little digging and solving of a couple riddles to find the answer. Even so, Nathalie showed no sign of recovery for the first few days the medicine was being poured down her throat. The only thing telling Gabriel it was working was that it managed to keep her from falling beyond the precipice of death. And then, to his and Adrien's boundless relief, the blood ceased to stain her sleeves and her towels, she could actually rise to her feet without immediately lunging for something to steady her. Now, her cough was still persistent, but it was weakening. She no longer needed constant surveillance (Gabriel spent several sleepless nights at her side, terrified her breathing would stop if he failed to pay attention), and her dizziness, according to her, didn't turn the world white anymore. Finally, she was getting better. She had a distance yet to go, but she was on her way.

And so the fact that she had neglected to take the medicine this morning was troubling. It was not the first time the task had escaped her. They didn't know what would happen if she fell behind, if her condition would regress, if it would simply stall. Gabriel didn't want to risk it.

"Just take it now," he said.

Nathalie uncapped the vial and took it's bright blue contents down in a single mouthful. Then she grimaced - she had expressed it tasted unpleasant. The empty glass was handed back to Gabriel, who pocketed it once more.

"Thank you," he said.

She elevated her chin.

Gabriel looked forward, staring at the back of the house, at the windows reflecting the white glare of the dipping sun. Another day was ending and with each one that passed, he was surprised to survive. Everything that had transpired existed now as scars on the hearts of those who lived within the black and white walls; and in his memories, still raw and stinging sourly. He told himself he should not have made it out, that everything should have broken apart like exploding glass, razor-edged and unrepairable. Somehow, he was not sitting alone on this bench to watch the light sink. Somehow, she was there when he knew he couldn't want it any other way. Somehow, they didn't have to say goodbye.

Cautiously, Gabriel's eyes turned on her, and feeling his shyness, she glanced back at him. Still, she looked sick, but far better than she had seemed in weeks. The burden of her weakness, she continued to visibly carry. She was cloaked in shame, perhaps for surviving, perhaps for not wanting to heal as desperately as he needed her to, perhaps for the very reason for her illness in the first place. Adrien hadn't said it, but Gabriel knew, even if he didn't, that Nathalie had already been forgiven. He also knew it would take time for it to feel real to her.

He had been walking through limbo for two years, and so for him, reality had set in brazenly. He remembered the horror of everything in excruciating detail: the tears, the blood, the power, the how-could-you and the I-love-you. To think there was so much he hadn't seen that was so clear to him now. Then again, though clouds may hide the sky, there still exists stars which burn without our knowledge, before we ever see them, and we see them even after their gone.

But the stars in his sky, miraculously, were still in reach. He could hold them now if he chose to, and if they wanted to come close enough.

"Nathalie," he murmured, still looking at her.

"Yes?"

"Do you know why I did what I did?"

The question startled her. She didn't answer.

"I realized something I should have known a long time ago," he said, shifting just an inch nearer to her. "It shouldn't have taken finding out Adrien was Chat Noir for me to get it. I shouldn't have had to watch you suffer the way you did. I shouldn't have had to come so close to having nothing to realize I already had everything."

"Gabriel…" she breathed.

"I loved Emilie," he went on, voice breaking on the name, "For so long, I thought she was the only thing that could make me feel complete. I thought I couldn't live without her. But the truth is I was, for as long as she was gone, I was living, and I didn't let myself believe it. People suffered for that. You suffered, Adrien suffered so much, and so did I. Emilie," he added, "was the only one that didn't."

Nathalie had lowered her eyes, staring intensely at the hands she wrung together in her lap, her lips pressed tightly into a thin line as she listened to him speak.

"I'm sorry for having been so blind."

"You were hurting, Gabriel."

"And I let myself hurt other people for it," he replied. "There's no excuse." Her knuckles were white. Gabriel placed his hand over both of hers, and she raised her head to gaze back, surprised to see the earnest, remorseful look he was giving her. "Hope kept my quest alive for two years, but I should have known it sooner that I could place that hope in other places. In other people. In Adrien. In you."

"Me?"

"You told me you loved me that night," he whispered.

The color drained from Nathalie's face, her blue eyes going bright with panic. He didn't know for sure if she remembered saying it; it had come at such an awful, agonizing moment, and had she never come that close to the end of her life, she may never have admitted it. But now, she looked a heartbeat away from leaping to her feet and fleeing.

"Nathalie," said Gabriel, trying to soothe her.

"I-I'm sorry," she stammered. "I wasn't - I wasn't in the right - in the right mind. I shouldn't have said that I -"

"Nathalie," he said once more, silencing her. She gazed with her mouth agape, her breaths coming sharp and nervous. Gabriel leaned just an inch closer. "I love you too."

Stunned, she pulled away from him, black hair waving with the sudden movement. Her eyes, like spots of sky, went wide and cool and beautiful. Oh, how he would never tire of surprising her. "What?" Her voice was hardly audible as she was breathless and amazed.

"How could I not?" he simply asked.

That was the question she knew better than to answer. There was a second and a half during which her face didn't change, her shoulders remained tense, and her hands continued to clasp themselves under his affectionate touch. And then she appeared, just slightly, to yield herself to believing him. A half-smile crossed her lips, her brow softened. "Oh," she exhaled, "You do."

He started to lean away, his grip on her hands loosening. "I needed you to know. I don't know what I'd do without you. I don't" - he shook his head - "I don't know how I got so lucky."

"Gabriel…" His hand fell away from hers. She had noticed the tension in his voice, the way he only withdrew with his declaration. It was the truth, she allowed herself that, but it wasn't an easy one. There was agony in his words, and Gabriel saw, by the way her gaze beamed tenderly and sadly into his own, a similar agony within her.

"Nathalie...I - I'm sorry…"

"You're not ready yet, are you?"

He glanced away with guilt. The knowing, feeble tone of her voice sent a twist of shame through his head. "It's just...it's so soon."

"Gabriel, believe me, I understand." When he looked back to her, she had leaned back against the bench, tilted her chin back up the sky, so she sat the way he had found her. But there was a calm on her face that wasn't there before, her eyes were open, sweeping across the great blue expanse above their heads which deepened in color as they sat. "Of course, I understand. You need time. We all do. It's okay."

Their wounds were fresh, and clarity did not constitute contentment. This was only the beginning, and he couldn't know where it was going to end, or if it ever would. In fact, he was certain, that within all three of them, there would always be a pain that could be traced to that fateful night and all the nights that had led them there. Though time might bury it well beneath the skin, embedding it in veins or in bones or in something so deep it couldn't even be named, they might still feel it. They might wake to the memory long after they thought it had ceased to hurt. But Gabriel was just as certain that soon enough, they would be able to smile at each other and not feel the burden of their upheaval upon their lips, see shadows in the other's eyes. One day their might be the return of color, and the closing of spaces that had gaped at them, vast and dark and without sense. Adrien, though he had earned his bruises, might soon forgive him too. Gabriel might even liberate himself, not of blame, but certainly of punishment eventually._ It would come_, he told himself, _it would come._

As for her, she needed to heal. She needed to want to, and he hoped she would do it for herself. However closely he had been at her side, he still had no way to know exactly how it felt to slip away, only, by miracle and nothing less, to be pulled back.

She was here now, and she was reaching for him, setting a hand on his arm and smiling. "When we're both ready," she murmured, "I'll be here."

"I'll be here," he promised back.

Her arms slipped around his neck, and she pulled herself closer. Gabriel wrapped her in his own embrace, let his head rest between her neck and her shoulder. As they held each other, the sun sank lower, the sky became bluer, and the breeze, as it passed between them, carried in its gentle flow, a pair of pearl-winged butterflies that had been released from the underground garden to the open air. In the house, a cell phone buzzed, Adrien letting them know he had arrived at the theatre with his friends, that he would be back around nine that night. Gabriel would be awake, arranged in the dining room, looking out into the foyer, and giving his son a mere nod of acknowledgement when he came through the front door smiling broadly. Nathalie would be asleep. She would sleep a lot, but slowly she would become less tired; slowly, she would return to the atelier more frequently, and Gabriel, wanting to be near, would find the courage to go back as well. They would peer up over their glasses at the same moment, meet each other's eyes across the room, smile and look away and sigh to themselves and measure the pangs in their hearts that came the next moment, take notice when they started to hurt less.

Nathalie's arms were warm and they were strong, and she held him in that same selfless way. Maybe, one day, moments like these would become less selfless; maybe he would teach her to want and to take; maybe she would hold him like her life depended on it and relish in the fact that it no longer did. And still, every now and then, she would revive these kinds of moments, and hold him without need, and he would softly kiss her hair as he was doing now, and let the moment be simply a moment before it disappeared and they went on. But they would go on, one day, together.

Gabriel lifted his head from her shoulder, let his arms slacken around her. They leaned their foreheads together and kept their eyes shut, but had they looked, they might have seen the future in the other's gaze, and perhaps they may not have been able to resist it. It was not silver and gold, but sunlight and snow; it was wordless communication and hands that were never empty; it was the fixing of lapels, the brushing of hair, the folding of glasses and clicking of lamps; it was whispers in a dark bedroom and laughter in the morning light; it was realizing how much easier sleepless nights became when they weren't spent alone, and that a cry in the darkness could be answered, and that arms could express exceptional love by the way they laid over a trembling body which would eventually go still but for its tranquil breathing; it was "Thank you", it was "I love you", it was "Yes", it was "How did this happen?", it was "I wouldn't have it any other way"; it was the two of them, and it was three, then it was - maybe, just maybe, by accident - it was four; it was tomorrow though they didn't know it; it was forever, and they did.

It was Gabriel brushing her hair behind her ear. It was her nudging her cheek into his fingers. They took a deep breath.

And they withdrew.

* * *

**It is done. **

**Thank you all so much for reading! This has been really, really fun and I've made a lot of friends in the process of writing/publishing both this and TPPOF. **

**Also, I can guarantee this isn't the end yet! I have a one-shot coming out around Christmas, which is a follow-up, so make sure you keep your eyes peeled for that. **

**Please leave a review before you go and let me know what you think. I hope you all liked the ending. I love you!**

**~ Lullaby**


End file.
